


Blood from Stone

by lea_hazel



Category: Elder Scrolls V: Skyrim
Genre: Age Difference, F/M, Fluff and Angst, Markarth (Elder Scrolls), Marriage of Convenience, Skyrim Civil War, Skyrim Kink Meme, Skyrim Main Quest, Slow Burn, Unconventional Relationship
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-01-27
Updated: 2021-03-14
Packaged: 2021-03-18 05:21:25
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 27
Words: 56,967
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28987023
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lea_hazel/pseuds/lea_hazel
Summary: Corinne af-Umasa, Dragonborn, assassin and Stormcloak war-hero, wanders through Markarth one too many times and tangles with the notorious Silver-Blood family. It's a good thing she's more than a little notorious herself, and she has big plans for Thongvor Silver-Blood, for Skyrim, and for all of Tamriel.
Relationships: Female Dovahkiin/Thongvor Silver-Blood, Minor or Background Relationship(s)
Comments: 10
Kudos: 18





	1. A Business Proposal

**Author's Note:**

> This fic-in-progress was initially posted on the semi-functional Skyrim kink meme on Dreamwidth, in response to a prompt requesting a Dragonborn forming an arranged marriage with one of Skyrim's Jarls. The idea took root and quickly got out of hand. I play a little fast and loose with the gaps in the narrative, so the "lore" I'm working with is as much speculation as canon.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Corinne visits a former enemy and tests his pragmatism (or his greed).

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Original prompt: "LBD/M!Jarl -- Arranged Marriage
> 
> Because Skyrim is full of Hot Single Jarls.
> 
> The DB has a honour, fame and respect, but not a lot of money or status. Hot Single Jarls have status (and maybe money), but no heirs or sketchy heirs, bad reputations, shitty holds and dangerous rivals, etc.
> 
> Maybe they arrange it together and everyone is shocked, shocked I say! Maybe DB gets it as a reward from their future High-Queen or King after playing a key role in the Civil War (in which case either side works!)."

Her third visit to Markarth would, she hoped, be more auspicious than the previous ones.  
  
Well, actually, it was her fourth, if she counted strictly, but she generally didn't count the second visit. She had snuck into the city under cover of darkness, avoided the marketplace and inn, and went straight to the Hag's Cure to report back to her contract. Once that ugly business had been concluded, she spirited straight back out of the city with all due haste. Her memories of Cidhna Mine were too vivid to allow anything else.  
  
To say that she was less than thrilled to find out she had further business in the Reach would be a gross understatement.  
  
These and many other thoughts coursed through Corinne's head as she pushed open the huge metallic doors of the Treasury House, and presented herself to the girl at the counter with her winningest smile.  
  
"My name is Corinne af-Umasa, and I have a business proposal for your employer."  
  
The attendant, now more obviously pregnant than on her last visit, frowned at her. "The Treasury House caters to clients of the Silver-Blood family."  
  
"Would this change your mind?" she asked, and showed the girl the ring on her finger. "I have business with Thonar Silver-Blood. Where is he?"  
  
"Right this way, ma'am," said the girl with a tired sigh.  
  
***  
  
"I asked not to be interrupted, Rhiada," said Thonar, without looking up from his work, when a knock came on his door.  
  
"I know, sir," said Rhiada with a tremble in her voice, "but someone named Corinne af-Umasa is here to see you. She says she has a proposition for you."  
  
"I said proposal, actually," said a feminine voice in a crisp High Rock accent.  
  
Thonar looked up.  
  
Despite her accent, Corinne was obviously Redguard in appearance, dark-skinned, with her long hair meticulously braided and swept into a loose tail at her back. At first, he was taken aback by her presumptuous familiarity in calling on him, but after a moment or two, he finally realized where he recognized her from. Of course, she looked different now, scrubbed and fresh and clad in leather armor. The first time he'd seen her she was ragged and blood-stained, carrying nothing but a crude pocket-knife and a grudge.  
  
" _You_ have a proposal for me?" he asked skeptically.  
  
"A business proposal," she clarified. "You are a businessman, aren't you?"  
  
"Sit down," he offered, gesturing at the chair across the desk from him.  
  
Corinne took a seat, dropping a clanking satchel beside her and taking care to turn so that the light caught the gleaming elven blade strapped to her thigh. Thonar clasped his hands before him and regarded her with a penetrating gaze, alert to any hint of scorn or betrayal.  
  
"Close the door behind you, Rhiada," he said, and was quite surprised to hear the teeth-grinding sound of a chair scraping across the floor.  
  
"A proposal, is it?" His lovely wife, golden-haired and acid-tongued, pointedly dropped into the extra chair, crossing her long legs before her.  
  
"I don't have time for this, Betrid," said Thonar irritably. "Go see Kerah at the marketplace and buy yourself something frivolous. You like shopping, don't you?"  
  
"Oh no, husband mine," said Betrid with absolutely false sweetness. "You won't get rid of me _that_ easily, not this time."  
  
Corinne looked back and forth between the two, so obviously amused at their expense that it made Thonar want to slap the smug smile off her face.  
  
"Are you concerned about the nature of my proposal, Lady Silver-Blood?" she asked. "I assure you, it's strictly monetary in nature."  
  
"I don't doubt," said Betrid viciously.  
  
Corinne looked at her again and raised her eyebrows. Then she turned to Thonar and looked him up and down in such an obvious and vulgar way he very nearly threw her out on her ear. To top it all off she had the audacity to dryly quip, "I promise, you have nothing to worry about."  
  
Thonar schooled his face to the kind of calm collectedness that had won him the upper hand in ever-so-many negotiations. "If you're satisfied, wife?" he asked through gritted teeth.  
  
Betrid got up from her seat with such force and energy the chair wobbled and fell to the floor with a clang. Flouncing her skirts, she swished out of the room with her nose in the air. A second clang heralded her final departure when she shut the door with rather more force than necessary.  
  
Thonar pinched the bridge of his nose. "If we can get back to business?"  
  
"Certainly," said Corinne with an air of insouciant disregard.  
  
She leaned down to her satchel and brought out a rolled-up parchment, which she proceeded to spread out over the entire surface of his desk. It was an impressively complete map of the entire province, marked with endless notations in different hands and different colors of ink. The hold capitals, including Markarth, were marked in bold, black block letters, while all around them in script were named caverns, tombs, and especially in the Reach, innumerable Forsworn encampments. He recognized with startlement a paw-print symbol near the border with Haafingar, and recalled tuning out his older brother's words as he went on about Ulfric's getting himself some new pet irregular whom everyone was talking about.  
  
Looking back up at Corinne, he regarded her with new eyes, not as a nosy rabble-rouser with too much curiosity and not enough common sense, but as a soldier, a rebel, and a Stormcloak. Given their recent victory in Whiterun, it was not outside possibility that Ulfric Stormcloak might yet become High King. That alone was reason enough to give this girl the time of day, even if rumors about her were exaggerated.  
  
"I have business in the Reach," said Corinne. "Rather more business than I would like, given my reception the first time I arrived in your fair city."  
  
Thonar bit his tongue and resisted the urge to give her a piece of his mind.  
  
She stabbed her finger at several points on the map. "I need to enter these ruins and find something of value. Well, from experience, I would say I'm likely to find _several_ things of value, but I'm looking for something specific. You'll restrain yourself from asking what, I hope. My problem is, before I get anywhere near the typical draugr-infested Nord tomb, I have to clear several uprisings' worth of Forsworn to even reach the door."  
  
"What's it to me?" asked Thonar, crossing his arms.  
  
"I need hired help and equipment to delve into the tombs," said Corinne bluntly. "I need money for supplies and repairs, and pay for whoever I hire to guard my rear."  
  
His lip curled. "You want a benefactor."  
  
She shook her head. "I'm offering a business exchange. An investment. Front me the money to hire a mercenary and buy supplies, and you'll get a pre-negotiated cut of the profits, excluding the specific artifacts that I'm going after."  
  
"Assuming you don't get killed and leave me high and dry," he pointed out.  
  
Dryly, she said, "I've cleared several such tombs in the past few months. I've also killed several dragons, and as for the Forsworn, I've been hunting them since long before I came to Skyrim. I know what I'm about."  
  
"And why offer this lucrative opportunity to me, in particular?" asked Thonar.  
  
"I'm convinced I can get the treasure, I just need money for supplies," she replied, "and in Markarth, money is synonymous with your name, _in particular_."  
  
Her imitation of his accent galled him, but she wasn't wrong. Thonar thought, tightening the grip of his clasped hands on each other.  
  
"Besides which," she added in amusement, "for whatever reason, there are seven or eight of the artifacts I need in this hold alone. It would be most convenient to launch my expeditions out of here."  
  
"I won't risk the money required for seven expeditions," he objected, "and no mercenary worth their pay would be willing to go on such a long excursion with no guarantee of survival, and no means of passing on their pay to their families."  
  
"A fair point," she conceded. "How about this: I'll divide them into three groups. Clear the first, come back to Markarth, and give you your cut of the loot. If you like the deal you got, we can renegotiate for the second expedition."  
  
My, he did like a shrewd negotiator. "Agreeable. Now, let's talk about my cut."


	2. Ice-Veins

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Corinne meets Thongvor Silver-Blood for the first time.

All told, she was in Markarth for almost a month. Back and forth from Sky Haven Temple, up to the summit of Dragontooth Crater, and criss-crossing the entire hold in pursuit of dark rumors and whispered-of horrors. The last expedition took her all the way into the edges of Haafingar, within sight of Dragon Bridge, though she didn't dare set foot in that town. Under different circumstances, it might have been more profitable to run that particular trail out of Solitude, but she wasn't especially welcome there, either, these days. For more reason than one. At last, she had her treasures, the masks secure in her bag, and by the end of it, Thonar Silver-Blood was almost civil to her.  
  
She arrived at the Treasury House early in the evening, after having ridden hard all day, with a pouch full of gold for her investor and a trusty mercenary at her back, just in case. Markarth wasn't the sort of city where Corinne was likely to wander about without armor or weapons, and after everything they'd been through together, Vorstag practically qualified as a weapon himself. She let herself in with only a token word to Rhiada, who was already packing up to leave for the day, and found her own way to Thonar's office, rapping a familiar beat on the door with her knuckles.  
  
"Enter, and make it quick."  
  
"Stay here," she whispered to Vorstag, and let herself in.  
  
"Back so soon?" asked Thonar, looking up only briefly from his work.  
  
"We're an efficient team, Vorstag and me," said Corinne, and slapped the jangling bag of septims on the desk before him.  
  
He weighed it in his hand before slipping it into a drawer and locking it. "So you are. What's next?"  
  
Corinne shrugged. "For me? Nothing."  
  
"Nothing?" asked Thonar with raised eyebrows.  
  
"Not here in the Reach," she said. "I have to head to High Hrothgar, of course, and I have an appointment to keep in Neugrad Pass along the way."  
  
Thonar Silver-Blood looked at her with an expression that said, ' _none of my business_ ', and said it louder than words.  
  
"If I have business in this area again, you can be sure that I'll bring it to you, first," she said.  
  
"That's all I ask," he replied.  
  
"How do you feel about excavating Labyrinthian?" she asked, and laughed at the sour expression on his face.  
  
"Off with you, then," said Thonar, waving her out with both hands. "You look like you could use a square meal and a decent night's sleep, not to mention a bath."  
  
She stood up and reached for her satchel, and was just about to comply when the door creaked open and she ran headlong into someone barging in through the open doorway.  
  
"Thonar, why is there an _armed mercenary_ in our-- oof!"  
  
Corinne stumbled and her satchel slipped from her grasp, hitting the stone floor with a clatter. The man she had just run into grabbed both her arms to steady her, or perhaps, judging from the strength of his grip, to steady himself. She looked up and recognized the same shaved head and watery-pale eyes as Thonar.  
  
"Corinne af-Umasa, I don't believe you've been introduced to the patriarch of the Silver-Bloods," said Thonar, his voice dripping a certain special kind of contempt, "Thongvor Silver-Blood."  
  
Thongvor Silver-Blood dropped her arms abruptly and took a step back. "Is that your man outside?"  
  
"For the next couple of hours, anyway," said Corinne, bending over to retrieve her fallen bag.  
  
His pale face turned bloody red, and she almost laughed aloud at the misunderstanding.  
  
"His contract runs out at midnight," she explained. "I'll have to hire another mercenary, then."  
  
"If our business is concluded, Corinne," said Thonar sharply, "perhaps you could take _your man_ to someplace where his weapons and armor won't draw as much rancor."  
  
"Like your inn, down city-wise?" asked Corinne, definitely amused.  
  
"For example," agreed Thonar with a thin smile.  
  
"I'm off to High Hrothgar in the morning," she said. "If I'm ever back in town, I'll be sure to send my regards."  
  
She shot the brother -- _Thongvor_ \-- a speculative look as she passed by him, and took her leave. Collecting a bemused Vorstag outside the door, she made her way down Markarth's many stone steps and decided it was time for that square meal Thonar had mentioned. She'd been running herself ragged going after those masks, but it was a good day's work and she had earned her reward. Especially considering that she had a long ride ahead of her tomorrow morning, and that she would be making it alone.  
  
"You're not interested in escorting me up the seven thousand steps, are you?" she asked Vorstag as they were both waiting for their drinks. "No, never mind. That's a terrible idea. I have an errand to run before I get there, and I don't think it's the kind of work you're suited to."  
  
"If you're ever looking for backup going to a Nordic tomb or a Dwemer ruin, I'll be happy to accompany you," said Vorstag.  
  
"I know you would," replied Corinne. "You're good company, and better backup, but there are some things I need to do alone."  
  
***  
  
Once Corinne had excused herself, Thogvor spent a long moment looking at the door she had shut behind her.  
  
"Thonar," he said slowly, "is that who I think it is?"  
  
"I can't guess your thoughts, Thongvor," his brother retorted irritably, not looking up from his work.  
  
Thongvor scowled darkly at him. "You called her by some foreign name, but that's Corinne Ice-Veins, Ulfric's war hero."  
  
Thonar muttered something under his breath. "Politics is your domain. I deal with the business side of our family operation. Corinne brought me a sound business proposal and we made a deal. Quite a good deal, actually. I turned a hefty profit investing in her expeditions."  
  
" _Investing_?" asked Thongvor incredulously. "Damn your eyes, Thonar, she's _Dragonborn_!"  
  
"I don't know and I didn't ask," said Thonar.  
  
"You just heard her say that's she's heading to High Hrothgar," said Thongvor, setting his jaw and crossing his arms over his chest.  
  
"Not my business," replied his brother crisply. "If you want to go chasing legends, carve some time out of your busy schedule of fruitlessly stalking Jarl Igmund to track her down."  
  
Thongvor's scowl only darkened at the implied insult.  
  
"Although I warn you, brother," and here he finally deigned to look up and meet his eyes, "if you mean to pursue the woman, don't underestimate her. She's half your age and she'll eat you for breakfast."  
  
Anger, hot and molten, shot through his body, and Thongvor saw red. "I don't know where you got such an outlandish idea. My concern is for the war effort and Skyrim's independence. The cause we've been fighting for these past twenty-five years."  
  
"The cause _you've_ been fighting for," said Thonar. "I don't deny that Ulfric's ambitions are lofty, and there's an appeal to that, but he doesn't have the throne yet. Right now he can't even call a moot. When he has all nine holds in his grasp, that's when I can start treating him as a serious power. Until then, I'll stick to what I know best."  
  
"What about the dragons?" asked Thongvor.  
  
"Frankly," said his brother, "she seems to have that well in hand. I can't say I'm worried, and neither should you be. And let me say one more time: dragons have nothing to do with why you were staring at her backside when she left."  
  
Thongvor threw up his arms in disgust. "You've always been so short-sighted. Since this conversation is going nowhere, I'll go find my dinner."


	3. The Jarl of the Reach

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Corinne returns to Markarth after the battle to retake the Reach.

When next Corinne returned to Markarth, she could walk up to Understone Keep and enter the ancient palace freely, with no fear of encountering either legionnaires or Thalmor agents. While the rest of the Reach remained perilous thanks to the seemingly endless number of Forsworn covens and their witch-warriors, Markarth's stone walls provided it a measure of protection. Now that the enemy was no longer within the gates.  
  
As always, she came into town carrying an assortment of items that she had picked up in her travels and needed to convert into ready coin. Fencing the odds and ends took up most of her day, dashing between the market stalls or up and down flights of stairs. The shopkeepers were particular in what sorts of goods they would accept in barter, and she had not yet built enough of a reputation in Markarth to overcome this obstacle. Late in the day, she finally hefted her last parcel of salvaged weapons and armor and decided on a whim that instead of taking them to Ghorza, she would finally pay a visit to her brother up in the keep.  
  
Moth gro-Bagol was a tall, gruff orc with a businesslike demeanor that appealed to her, and she quickly discovered that he had a good eye for salvaged goods, and was willing to give her a fair price for anything he thought he could sell or use. Her saddlebags were bursting with the ill-gained byproducts of her violent lifestyle, and Moth's forge was burning hot, rendering the smithy room stifling. Before she settled in for a nice, long bartering session, Corinne took the trouble to shed her own armor and was left barefoot and wearing a simple tunic, the neck unlaced to let some heat escape from her body. They were deep in the throes of negotiation -- and Corinne was just starting to enjoy herself -- when she heard heavy footsteps in the hall and someone entered the stifling smithy.  
  
"Moth, I need you to-- oh."  
  
Corinne turned around and saw Thongvor Silver-Blood, wearing a polished steel breastplate and heavy steel-toed boots, his only concession to his newfound status in the silver circlet on his head. It was terribly incongruous with the armor, and it made her want to laugh, an urge that only intensified when he faced her and gave a slight bow.  
  
"Corinne Ice-Veins," he said. "Your reputation precedes you."  
  
"My reputation rides a slow horse, it seems," she replied. "They call me Snow-Hammer now. Not that I care very much for the epithet. My mother named me af-Umasa, and it suits me fine."  
  
Moth gro-Bagol looked from Corinne to Thongvor and then back to her again. "You were at the battle for Fort Sungard?"  
  
"So I was," she confirmed with a smile.  
  
He grunted. "That where you get all of this armor?"  
  
Corinne shook her head. "I don't loot Imperial legionnaires. It's beneath me. What I take comes from bandits, necromancers, and assorted miscreants. Usually, they attack me, first, so I don't exactly have pangs of conscience about bartering their possessions for ready coins and leaving their bodies for carrion."  
  
She saw Moth and Thongvor exchange a pregnant look and knew that she had come across as much more ruthless and bloody-minded than she'd intended to.  
  
"Well, you've cleared out a fair number of Forsworn nests," said Thongvor, "and for that I owe you my thanks."  
  
Corinne waved away his thanks nonchalantly. "Before I came to Skyrim I lived in Evermore for years. We tangled with the Reachmen plenty, over there. More like common bandits than the Forsworn down this side of the border, but I got to know their tactics well enough. That's how I ended up in Skyrim to begin with, actually." She snorted. "Funny story."  
  
"Another time," suggested Thongvor. "Now that I have your attention, Dragonborn--"  
  
Corinne bit back a groan. "Oh?"  
  
"If I could have a word or two?" he suggested and, glancing at Moth, added, "In private."  
  
"No offense taken," said Moth gruffly.  
  
Thongvor gestured at the open door of the smithy and Corinne reluctantly followed him back out into the keep. He led her not to the throne room, which stood empty and dark in the evenings, but down a short corridor to what looked like a war room. A dark-haired Nord man in officer's armor vacated the room just as they were entering, offering the new Jarl a casual salute and herself a friendly wave. She remembered him vaguely from the attack on Fort Sungard, where he'd been nominally in command until Galmar showed up to take charge. She hadn't gotten to know him very well.  
  
"Friend of yours?" asked the Jarl when he caught her looking after him.  
  
"Not exactly," said Corinne.  
  
He nodded. "I understand. Moth and I are old friends, from our Legion years. Battle bonds aren't easy to break."  
  
She thought of Ralof and Helgen and nodded, deciding he was probably right. "You had questions for me?"  
  
"Dragonborn."  
  
"Ye-es," said Corinne, baffled.  
  
"When last I saw you, you said you were headed to High Hrothgar," he said.  
  
"Ah," said Corinne. "Yes. That didn't-- well, it didn't go exactly to plan."  
  
"The Greybeards denied you, after declaring you Dragonborn before all the world?" asked the Jarl, frowning deeply.  
  
She grimaced. "No, no. They did what the Greybeards usually do, apparently. Sent me on a quest."  
  
"Here in the Reach?" asked the Jarl. "We'd be glad to lend any assistance that the Dragonborn might need. It would be an honor to offer you my aid."  
  
"No, not here," she said. "In Winterhold, actually. At the College of Winterhold. Which, mind you, I have successfully avoided, thus far."  
  
"I wouldn't have expected you to have such a prejudice against magic-users," said the Jarl thoughtfully. "Common among sensible Nords, of course, but didn't you just say you lived in High Rock? Such a magic-steeped place, I would have imagined it drove all the prejudice right out of you."  
  
"I have nothing at all against magic-users," said Corinne, "but the College of Winterhold is notoriously decrepit and dysfunctional. I learned all the basic spellwork I needed years ago, and it's served me well enough for years. Here and there I pick up the odd spell, but your basic lightning bolts and stoneflesh do for most things I need."  
  
Jarl Thongvor took a step back, involuntarily. "I didn't realize you were a caster yourself."  
  
"I trained as a nightblade," said Corinne. "Not the Nord way, I understand, but spells and stealth have saved my life more than once when a blade wasn't handy. Without my stoneflesh spell, I never would have made it out of Nchuand-Zel alive."  
  
He looked so taken aback that she had to take pity on him.  
  
"Your brother didn't tell you about that episode?" she asked. "Ask him for all the details, if you like. All you really need to know is that I made it out alive, and Madanach didn't."  
  
"It seems you hold many secrets, Dragonborn," said the Jarl, a new measure of respect in his eyes.  
  
"You don't have to call me that, you know," she reminded him. "Corinne will do just fine."  
  
"Your exploits deserve a better honorific than that," he replied. "How about Thane Corinne, as a compromise? Markarth owes you a great debt, as do I, personally. It's within my power to name you Thane of the Reach as a reward for your many services to the hold."  
  
Corinne paused and considered this. "I understand this is a ceremonial position only, yes?"  
  
"An honorable position, but not one that entails any practical obligations," he agreed. "It won't keep you pinned to the city if that's what you're wondering. I know you have duties elsewhere."  
  
"I'm fighting two wars," she reminded him. "I have more than the fate of the Reach on my mind."  
  
"I know."  
  
"I'll think about it," she said reluctantly.  
  
He smiled. "That's all I can ask for."  
  
Corinne sighed and then smiled crookedly. "Well, I seem to have run out of Nord ruins to investigate, so I might as well take a carriage to Winterhold and see what this college is all about. Maybe they can help me on my quest, after all."  
  
"You're leaving Markarth tomorrow?" asked the Jarl, all business again.  
  
"No," she replied. "I still have some loose ends to tie up, and some supplies to prepare. Commerce isn't very lively in Winterhold, from what I hear."  
  
He laughed. "No, indeed."  
  
"Well," said Corinne awkwardly, unsure of how to end the peculiar encounter.  
  
"Well, I won't keep you from your work, Dragonborn," said the Jarl.  
  
She tilted her head.  
  
Thongvor sighed. "Corinne," he said.  
  
"Thank you," said Corinne.  
  
"You'll be staying at the Silver-Blood Inn while you're in the city, I presume?" he asked.  
  
"For a night or two, I think," she replied.  
  
"If I can render any assistance," he said, "please don't hesitate to ask."  
  
She got up and turned to leave. Standing in the war room's doorway, she turned back and saw him sitting alone at the war table, staring at the map with its blue and red markers, the blue outnumbering the red. Thonar had spoken of his brother's political ambitions more than once, usually with sniffing disdain. She wondered whether being Jarl of the Reach was all he had expected it to be.  
  
"Good night," she said, on a whim.  
  
He smiled faintly at her. "Good night."  
  
The next day dawned early and was busier than she had expected it to be, though what right she had to expect an easy day with no mortal peril, she didn't know. When she returned to her room at the inn at the end of the day, the innkeeper tartly informed her that a package had been left for her. To sweeten his temper Corinne was obliged to pay for his overpriced ale and stew, and took both of those along with the paper-wrapped package to her room with its stone bed. When she opened the package, she found three books and a note in an unfamiliar hand. She flipped through the books one by one, and finally picked up the note.  
  
_Thought these might be of more use to you than me._


	4. The Shrine of Talos

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Corinne strengthens her connections in Markarth.

When Corinne stepped into the Treasury House, she saw Betrid Silver-Blood attending the counter, drumming her fingers against its wooden surface, her expression a model of disgusted irritation.  
  
She strolled up to her, leisurely-like, and asked, "Where's Rhiada?"  
  
"Nursing," said Betrid sourly. "Do you have business with the Silver-Blood family, or did you just come in to bother me with foolish questions?"  
  
"I have another business opportunity for your husband," replied Corinne. "Is he around?"  
  
"Office," said Betrid curtly, and turned away from her to regard her fingernails with excessive interest.  
  
"Thank you," said Corinne.  
  
"If you find anymore gold amulets," said Betrid, not looking up, "bring them here first, instead of fencing them to that foolish Kerah woman. I'd like a look at them."  
  
Corinne smiled privately. "I'll see what I can do, Betrid."  
  
When she didn't comment further, Corinne shrugged and went about her business.  
  
"Finally decided on that expedition to Labyrinthian?" asked Thonar with no preamble, the moment she walked into his office.  
  
Corinne made a face. "No such luck, though I'm sure I'll get around to it, some day. I'm going down to Blackreach."  
  
Shock was written all over his face. "Not the dwarven ruin?"  
  
"The same," said Corinne with a grimace. "Not my choice of target, but I need something very specific which reliable sources inform me can be found there." She grimaced again. "Semi-reliable sources."  
  
"If you're trying to convince me to invest, you're doing a piss-poor job of it," he informed her.  
  
"Regardless of whether I find what I'm looking for," she reasoned, "I'm sure to return with bagloads of Dwemer artifacts and rare alchemical ingredients."  
  
"If the Falmer don't get you, first," said Thonar.  
  
"Would it sway you at all," she said slowly, "if I told you this was absolutely necessary to end the dragon threat for good?"  
  
"Perhaps you should appeal to my brother," he suggested, "since the two of you have developed such a rapport."  
  
Corinne frowned. "How do you mean?"  
  
Thonar threw up his hands and said, "Just that he won't stop talking about you. From the moment the Stormcloaks marched Igmund and his lackeys out of the city in chains, it's always Dragonborn this, Dragonborn that. Anyone would think that you'd single-handedly won Ulfric the war which, by the way, _isn't_ over yet."  
  
"Pardon me," said Corinne dryly, "I had a few minor dragon-related things to deal with. I'll be sure to end the war as soon as can be conveniently arranged. I hope that works for you."  
  
"War is bad for trade," he grumbled. "That's all I meant."  
  
"You could always apologize by agreeing to fund my expedition," said Corinne. "I've come through for you before, you know. Besides, don't you and your brother draw from the same pool of funds? What difference would it make, which one of you I go to?"  
  
"Oh, it makes a difference," said Thonar ominously.  
  
"Well," said Corinne thoughtfully, "he did mention something about making me his thane. I wonder what that would entail, and whether it would be useful at all."  
  
"You would be assigned a housecarl, which would negate the cost of hiring a mercenary," Thonar pointed out. "Assuming you weren't planning on delving into a ruined Dwemer city alone."  
  
Corinne shuddered.  
  
"Smart girl," he said approvingly. "Always go with backup, if you can get it. A housecarl would be very useful to someone like you."  
  
"I _had_ a housecarl," said Corinne irritably, "in Whiterun."  
  
"Well, there you go," said Thonar, getting up from his seat to signal that the interview was over. "Go and ask my brother what silly errand he needs you to perform before he can bestow an equally silly ceremonial title on you."  
  
She didn't like being dismissed, but she _did_ need to maintain her mostly-cordial relationship with the Silver-Bloods, especially now that their control of Markarth was absolute and unchallenged. Grumbling under her breath, Corinne exited the Treasury House, receiving a condescending smirk and handwave from Betrid upon her leaving. She made her way back down to the inn, where she had stored her excess possessions, and decided that she might as well pay a visit to Understone Keep. Whether or not she agreed to Thongvor's offer to be made thane, she still wanted to trade with the smith, and that was reason enough for her to make the climb.  
  
When she approached the Mournful Throne she found it empty and only the steward Reburrus in attendance.  
  
"If you have business with the Jarl, it will simply have to wait," he informed her snootily. "He's at his midday meal."  
  
Only an utterly uncivilized person would interrupt a reigning noble at his meal to conduct business.  
  
"No need to bother him, then," said Corinne. "I only came to return these books that he so thoughtfully lent to me."  
  
"I'll see that he receives them," said Reburrus. "If that will be all?"  
  
"Right," said Corinne skeptically, and backed away, turning towards the smithy.  
  
"Moth, are you in here? You'll never _believe_ the present I got you."  
  
"Hold on."  
  
She watched curiously as he took a red-hot bar out of the forge-fire and quenched it in a bucket of cold water. Steam rose in clouds, making the close room even more stifling. When the steam dispersed, he stood holding a gleaming steel sword.  
  
"Wow," said Corinne.  
  
"It's just a simple steel blade," said Moth gruffly. "Must've made thousands of 'em, over the years. What brings you back to Markarth, Corinne?"  
  
"I brought you a present," she replied, smiling brightly.  
  
"Is it a daedra heart?" he asked.  
  
"A daed- no, it's not a daedra heart," she said, puzzled. "What makes you think that?"  
  
"Just thought you might've had a premonition that I needed one," said Moth.  
  
"I'll keep an eye open," said Corinne. "Anyway."  
  
"Yeah," said Moth. "What's this about a present?"  
  
"Moth, you're an expert smith," said Corinne. "What would you say is the strongest light armor there is?"  
  
"Malachite glass," he said without hesitation. "Won't find better armor than that anywhere in Skyrim."  
  
"Is that so?" said Corinne. "Well, then what do you make of this?"  
  
She dropped one of her satchels at his feet. Moth regarded her with the long-suffering expression of a man who would rather just get to the point, but eventually, he bent down and retrieved the leather bag. Popping it open, he examined its contents in the dim red light of the forge. His brow creased, and he reached into the bag to pull out one wide, flared, grey-green scale. He looked at it for a long moment, then snorted and shook his head ruefully.  
  
"This what I think it is?" he asked her.  
  
"Dragon scales," she confirmed. "I have another full bag exactly like this one, but they were too heavy for me to carry both of them up all these steps. Can you make something out of them?"  
  
"With enough of these, I can make you the best cuirass you've ever seen," he said confidently.  
  
"Even though you've never worked them before?" she asked.  
  
He nodded absently, running his thumb over the ridges of the scale in his hands. "Can you leave these here with me while you go get the rest? I want to get started taking some weight and flexibility measurements."  
  
"No problem," said Corinne. "I should have plenty of time to make the run down to the inn while I'm waiting for your friend the Jarl to get back from his dinner."  
  
"Oh, Thongvor's not at dinner," said Moth distractedly. "He goes to the Shrine of Talos every day at this hour. You could probably find him there right now if you cared to bother him."  
  
"Huh," said Corinne. "Maybe I will."  
  
What did Jarls pray for? High silver yields from the mines, maybe, or an end to the Reachmen's hostility to him. If it was the latter, then he was in for a rude awakening. Most of the Reachmen she'd met had no intention of picking up arms and joining the Forsworn, but that didn't mean they couldn't resent their Nord overlords. They could and they did, and it would take a more charitable reign than Thongvor's to soften them on the subject after all these years of struggle. Even then, she thought it would probably take a generation or two. An end to the dragon crisis, perhaps. Yes, that was probably it. Why hadn't she thought of it sooner? It had never occurred to her to _pray_ for Alduin's death, not since she had learned that defeating him was her exclusive responsibility.  
  
She was so deep in thought that she hardly noticed that she'd reached the shrine, not until her palm was flat against the stone door. She shuddered at the memory, but pushed the door open and stepped inside.  
  
The place was just as empty and dusty as she remembered from her last, ill-fated visit. A cold steel shrine shaped like an axhead stood on a raised podium in the center of the room. Thongvor Silver-Blood stood silently before the steel altar, arms at his sides. He was still wearing his armor, rather than the more usual elaborate fur-trimmed robes, and he hadn't yet noticed her there.  
  
With his back to her and his eyes trained on the shrine before him, Corinne was free to give him the same once-over she'd given his brother, but more discreetly. She had no point to make this time, after all. What's more, he was a much more interesting subject of her attention than the statue of Talos that he was regarding with such intensity. Skyrim was riddled with them, and she had seen that same exact visage more than once, even deep in the wilderness where surely no worshippers could be found.  
  
She had put his age at fifty, or a little more, but he carried it well. His bearing was still that of a soldier, straight-backed as though always on the verge of standing at attention. He moved like a soldier, too, with long purposeful strides that put her in mind of the Daggerfall Citadel parade grounds (her mother had had to drag her away from watching the soldiers practice their marching, and threatened tearfully all the things that she would do if Corinne so much as _thought_ of enlisting). From the rear view it became clear that he in fact did not have a shaved head so much as a balding one, and the armor hid most everything else that she would be interested in checking, but she did have a good view of his arms. He had nice arms, and broad shoulders, which generally counted more than a full head of hair. Corinne was forced to conclude that given his age, Thongvor was a rather good-looking man.  
  
But she couldn't keep checking him out forever, so she strode forward with a confidence she didn't feel and walked up to the shrine.  
  
"I have to admit, I didn't expect to find you here," she said.  
  
He turned to her, surprise writ large on his face. "Corinne? What are you doing here?"  
  
Corinne grimaced. "Good question. My last visit to this shrine wasn't exactly auspicious."  
  
"What?" he asked. "What do you mean?"  
  
"Nothing," she said blithely. If he didn't know about that, she wasn't going to enlighten him. "I came to find you, of course. Moth gro-Bagol told me I might find you here. Your steward, by the way, has _no clue_ where you are."  
  
"Ugh," said Thongvor. "Reburrus. Yeah, he actually works for Thonar, but he's usually impossible to get rid of."  
  
She almost laughed. Who would have thought that Jarl Thogvor was such a man of the people that he would find himself partaking of the universal Markarth experience of tangling unwillingly with Thonar Silver-Blood's men?  
  
"What are you smiling about?" he asked, frowning.  
  
"Nothing," she said. "Listen, are you really here alone, in the middle of the day? Is that safe?"  
  
Thongvor nodded, and before she could say anything in reply, a dark silhouette emerged from the shadowy recesses and stepped into the meager light, footsteps light and silent as air.  
  
Corinne waved. "Hello, Yngvar."  
  
"Dragonborn," he said curtly.  
  
"Fuck off," she said with a bright smile. "I have private business with your boss."  
  
Yngvar reached behind his back for the grip of his war-hammer, but Thongvor shook his head.  
  
"Boss--!" he protested.  
  
"Yngvar," said Thongvor. "Wait outside the door. I'll be out in a moment or two."  
  
The bard grumbled as he shuffled towards the door, muttering under his breath.  
  
"What is it that you wanted to discuss?" he asked once the door was closed and they had relative privacy.  
  
"I came to accept your offer," said Corinne simply.


	5. Crisis of Faith

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Corinne makes plans for the future.

Thongvor blinked.  
  
"Your offer to make me Thane of the Reach," she clarified. "Your brother implied that it would still be on the table when I went to see him."  
  
"You went to see Thonar?" he asked.  
  
"I had hoped to strike another deal with him," she said with a sigh. "Not amenable this time, unfortunately. I can raise some of the money I need other ways, but I need someone to accompany me, and mercenaries are expensive."  
  
"You seem to have recurring financial troubles," he said thoughtfully. "Too young to think of setting anything aside, I expect."  
  
Corinne scowled. "I had savings, but most of that money went towards paying my landlady for the missing months of rent when I unexpectedly disappeared in the middle of a routine two-week absence."  
  
"What sort of job entails two-week absences?" he asked, looking more curious than judgmental.  
  
"Before I came to Skyrim, I was a bounty hunter," explained Corinne with a sigh. "I was chasing a tricky bounty into the Jerall Mountains when I got caught up in an Imperial ambush and found myself facing the headman's axe in Helgen. Then Alduin attacked, and..." She shrugged.  
  
"A bounty hunter," repeated Thongvor.  
  
"Surprised?" she asked.  
  
"I suppose I shouldn't be," he said.  
  
"My mother didn't want me to be a soldier," she explained, "and there are honestly not that many things that I'm good at."  
  
"I find that hard to believe," he said.  
  
"Not good enough to make a living," said Corinne. "As a bounty hunter, I made good money, enough to keep my equipment in good condition, save something for the future, and even send money home from time to time."  
  
"And then your careful plans for the future were thrown into disarray," he said.  
  
She shrugged. "Pretty much."  
  
"And I suppose being constantly in mortal peril precludes making new plans for the future?" he asked.  
  
"Why plan for a future that might never come to pass?" she asked rhetorically. "I know I can't go on living this precariously forever, and that someday I might not be able to go out and loot Forsworn corpses for my supper. I _want_ to believe in the future -- why else would I bother joining the Stormcloaks? -- but right now I have more than enough on my plate. Although, I'll admit it's pretty dispiriting to find that half or so of Skyrim's professional beggars used to be either Stormcloaks or Legionnaires." She laughed bitterly.  
  
"As Thane of the Reach," said Thongvor gravely, "you would always have a home in Markarth, and I would personally ensure that you want for nothing. You won't end up begging so long as I have a say in the matter, Corinne."  
  
"My concerns right now are more immediate," she replied. "Which is not to say I'm not thinking of my future, but right now I'm pretty fixated on ensuring that Skyrim even _has_ a future, which is far from a given, at this point."  
  
"What do you need?" he asked pragmatically.  
  
"I'm going to Blackreach," said Corinne. "Yes, the underground Dwemer city. Yes, I know it's enormous. Yes, I do expect it to be rather a long journey. I have an entrance charted somewhere near Windhelm. I know how to get there and back, but I anticipate trouble and I can't get through it alone." She laughed. "And I can't carry out all the loot I'll need to fund the expedition alone, either."  
  
"Anything I contribute to your cause can be considered a donation, not a loan," said Thongvor. "I don't expect or need to be repaid."  
  
"Ah, then I guess I ought not to have left those books with your steward, after all," said Corinne.  
  
"The books were meant to be a gift," he confirmed with a frown.  
  
"I found them tremendously useful," she said, to cheer him up. "I never would have ended up joining the College's Saarthal expedition if I hadn't read that book about Gauldur."  
  
Thongvor's frown only deepened. "You were involved in that, were you?"  
  
"I gathered that Tolfdir, the Alternation master, had been planning an expedition for years," she said delicately, "and only recently obtained authority to mount it."  
  
"Did you find anything worth mentioning?" he asked, as though disinterestedly, but the line of his shoulders was so rigid she thought he might crack a tooth setting his jaw.  
  
"Something, yes," she said. "Something I'll probably have to go back and deal with, eventually. After I've paid my dues in Blackreach."  
  
"You've been in Skyrim for only a year," he said wonderingly, "and in that time you've never stopped running from place to place, putting out fires."  
  
"A little less than a year, yes," she confirmed, "and some of those fires were literal. Which reminds me, I should ask Moth about enchanting my new armor with fire resistance. I'm sure to encounter another dragon, sooner or later."  
  
"Calcelmo, the court wizard, can help you with that," he suggested. "New armor?"  
  
She grinned wickedly. "When you see it, you'll _die_ of envy."  
  
His eyebrows shot up and he opened his mouth to respond, but just then the door cracked open.  
  
"Boss," said Yngvar gruffly, "Reburrus is asking for you. Says there's some crisis that only you can handle."  
  
"How many times--" snarled Thongvor, his hands clenching to fists at his sides. "If it's not Forsworn or Thalmor I don't want to hear about it!"  
  
"You'll have to ask Reburrus, Boss," said Yngvar. "He wouldn't tell me what it was about."  
  
"I was just leaving, anyway," said Corinne needlessly. "I'll come back to the Keep later, to finish what we were discussing."  
  
Thongvor nodded, pinching the bridge of his nose. "I'll be there."  
  
And he stalked off, out into the city, with Yngvar shadowing him. Corinne turned back to the statue of Talos, which still watched her impassively, and shrugged. She might as well make her way back to the inn, and bring Moth the scales she had promised him. She really was looking forward to seeing Thongvor's eyes pop when he saw her in _Dragonscale armor_. It was an impossibly tempting thought. She'd never have been able to afford anything so classy if she hadn't slain those dragons herself. Perhaps it really _was_ time to start thinking about the future again. Once she got her hands on that Elder Scroll... _if_ she got her hands on it... how much longer before she could put the last nail in Alduin's metaphorical coffin, and move on with the shambles of her life? Maybe she would go back to Daggerfall, where her family still waited.  
  
Maybe the future was full of possibilities.  
  
***  
  
Thongvor was still irritated from the latest spell of bad news when Corinne af-Umasa presented herself before the Mournful Throne. It had only been a few hours since he'd seen her last, but she was completely transformed. Rather than her customary light armor, she was wearing a simple blue kirtle over a faded white blouse and was armed with no more than a dagger. A faint flicker of light over the pale moonstone curve of the hilt told him it was probably enchanted. He wondered whether her dressing down was meant as a display of confidence in Markarth's safety or just a sign of her over-inflated ego.  
  
Either way, it was impossible not to notice the difference a change of clothes made. Corinne was by no means gangly or underfed, but the bulk added by even light armor made a noticeable difference to how intimidating she looked. She was thin and wiry, and shorter than the average Nord. He was hard-pressed to imagine a bandit or Imperial soldier doing anything but taking one look at her and judging her a prey animal. Without her fire and steel, she looked nothing like the fabled Dragonborn. Just a slender Redguard girl, no older than twenty-five at the most.  
  
He desperately needed to keep her safe.  
  
"I'm glad you came back," he said. "I wasn't pleased with the way we left our last conversation. Firstly, I'd like to apologize for my abrupt departure."  
  
She put up her hand, shaking her head. "No need. Naturally, the affairs of the hold come first. Did you manage to resolve the issue?"  
  
"Unfortunately not," he said, grimacing. "Markarth seems to be having-- a crisis of faith, of sorts."  
  
"Is that why you sought guidance at the shrine?" she asked, a gleam of curiosity entering her dark eyes.  
  
He hoped the curiosity was for his own sake, and not because she was trying to pluck his strings like a cheap lute. "I suppose so, although it would have been a lot simpler to find guidance if the shrine was tended by a proper Priest of Talos. That would be the first problem. I did attempt to contact the Sisters of Dibella, but I was informed that the sisterhood is _communing_ with the goddess and summarily sent away."  
  
"That would be the second problem," said Corinne. "Is there a third?"  
  
"The third is the problem that I would require you to solve," he said, "if I'm to make you my--" he cleared his throat-- "my Thane."  
  
"What do you require?" she asked, filled with keen interest.  
  
"The city's Hall of the Dead is tended by a Priest of Arkay," he explained. "Imperial fellow, name of Brother Verulus. For weeks, now, he's refused petitioners entry into the Hall, to see the remains of their honored ancestors, as well as the recently deceased. This is obviously unacceptable. I need you to s--" he coughed again-- "speak with him, please, and clear the matter up."  
  
"I would say that seems like too easy a task," said Corinne, smiling cheekily, "but if my time in Skyrim has taught me nothing else, it's to distrust appearances. I will report back to you when the Hall of the Dead is open to visitors, or if an unexpected complication arises."  
  
"Please do," said Thongvor. "I assumed it was just a matter of _diplomacy_ , but if it comes to more than that, I want to know."  
  
Corinne nodded, serious for once, and took her leave.


	6. The Sybil of Dibella

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Corinne sets out to resolve Markarth's spiritual leadership void.

It was, predictably, more complicated than it appeared. Corinne debated how much she should really tell the Jarl about what was going on in his city. On the one hand, he did say that he _wanted_ to know the truth. On the other hand, that didn't mean she had to give him all the gory details. In the end, she opted to tell him only that she had cleared out a coven of belligerent Daedra-worshippers and felt vindicated in the decision when even that little detail was enough to bring a thunderous scowl to his face.  
  
"Damn heretical Reachmen," he muttered, clenching his fists. "Always causing trouble."  
  
"The coven leader was a Reachwoman -- I think -- but the rest were mostly Nords," said Corinne cautiously, hoping against hope that he could be reasoned with.  
  
Thongvor frowned at her. "Mostly Nords?"  
  
"Several merchants from the city," she replied, not naming any names. "People I've traded with in the past. Seemed normal enough, at the time. Let me tell you, I haven't yet been to a city in Skyrim that _didn't_ have an underbelly of Daedra-worship."  
  
The Jarl was stunned and horrified. "In _all_ of Skyrim?"  
  
"More or less," she amended. "It's... well, it's quite common, but I admit this was an extreme case."  
  
"Well," he admitted, "most of the orc citizens of Markarth venerate Malacath, I assume, but they never give me this kind of trouble. The Reachmen just--"  
  
"They hate you," said Corinne, feeling uncharacteristically blunt.  
  
"Yes, they hate Nords," he said, "and I don't know--"  
  
"No, Thongvor," she cut in. "They hate _you_ personally. Because you're a Silver-Blood."  
  
His face burned red and his jaw set, but he said nothing.  
  
Corinne softened her voice and added, "You could win their trust if you cared to put in the time and effort. I'm certain you could."  
  
"You seem very sure of that, Dragonborn," he said stiffly. "How do you imagine I might accomplish such a feat?"  
  
"They only want what everyone wants," she replied with conviction. "Not that it's any of my business how you run your hold. I assume Ulfric had a plan when he decided to put you in charge of the Reach."  
  
Thongvor sighed and pressed the heel of his hand to his forehead, eyes shut. "This will all be easier to manage if I can find a priest to tend Talos's shrine. Or if the damned sisterhood would open their doors and show their faces to the city beneath them again."  
  
"I suppose there must be a dearth of priests of Talos, all things considered," said Corinne skeptically.  
  
"When I was young, before the war," said Thongvor, leaning back in his seat, "the old priest Ormond was training three young novices. My cousin Nura was one of them, but she ran off and married into one of the Riften families. One of his other proteges attends the temple in Windhelm, I think."  
  
"And the third?" asked Corinne, curious despite herself.  
  
He rubbed his chin thoughtfully. "Elske Wild-Water. I think she retreated to some cave in the mountains, became a hermit." He sighed deeply. "Not that I can blame her. We were all betrayed by the Empire, but it was worst of all for the priests of Talos."  
  
Corinne was far from convinced that restoring the veneration of Talos would do anything to soothe interrelations in the city, but she could see plainly that it was Thongvor himself who was suffering a crisis of faith. Why she took pity on him she couldn't say, but something about his plight stirred a deep well of discomfort in her gut, and it made her restless.  
  
"Do you think I could find her for you?" she asked.  
  
He blinked in confusion.  
  
"Is there anyone in the city," she prompted, "a friend or relative, maybe, who might have an idea of where she went into hiding? The mountains are riddled with caves and caverns. I'm good, but not _that_ good."  
  
He cracked a smile. "That's not the task I set you," he pointed out.  
  
"Well," said Corinne, propping her fists on her hips, "if I'm going to be Thane of the Reach, I think I had better start by giving a damn what happens to the people here."  
  
"The way I hear it, you've already been more than helpful," he replied. "Not just clearing out Forsworn pockets, either. Thonar mentioned something about you settling a labor dispute for him."  
  
She made a face. "Is that what he called it?"  
  
"Why, what happened?" he asked.  
  
Corinne shook her head. "I'll tell you another time. You know, I wonder if speaking to the Sisters of Dibella might not be an easier way to fill Markarth's spiritual void, rather than traipsing through the Druadach Mountains waiting to be sniped by a stray hagraven fireball."  
  
He laughed. "Are you trying to convert me to the cult of Dibella?"  
  
She grinned wickedly, and his face turned snowberry-red in a way that she was beginning to find both familiar and entertaining. In fact, it was downright adorable.  
  
"I didn't mean--" he stumbled.  
  
"Relax," she said, still smiling. "I know you didn't mean anything by it. I don't especially venerate Dibella, and I would never dream of trying to convert anyone."  
  
"Right," he said. "I suppose Dibella doesn't really have a counterpart in the Redguard pantheon."  
  
Corinne laughed. "I grew up in Daggerfall, remember?" she said. "I'm as familiar with Dibella as any of the Imperial Divines, I'm just... Well, I've never been very faithful, I suppose. I had a nanny growing up who taught me all about the pantheon, and so on, but she never pushed me to be more religious than I was naturally inclined."  
  
He watched her thoughtfully. "How does a Redguard child end up growing up in Daggerfall, anyway?"  
  
"My mother's family were from Taneth," she said simply.  
  
"Ah," said Thongvor, comprehension dawning in his eyes. "And you were born..."  
  
"In Daggerfall, about six months after we lost my father," said Corinne, smiling sadly. "I don't think she even knew she was pregnant. She just had to pick up my sister and run. Ever since then, it's been the three of us. And Asta."  
  
"Asta?" he asked.  
  
"At first she was my nanny," she said, "but now she's just a part of the family."  
  
"You have a storied past, it seems," said Thongvor.  
  
"Everyone does," she replied with a shrug. "Well, I believe I can make it to the Temple of Dibella before nightfall if I rush, so I had better get going."  
  
"Go with the gods, Dragonborn," said the Jarl with a deep sigh, "and if you can bring me answers, so much the better."  
  
***  
  
When she entered the Temple of Dibella she was turned away by the only sister present, who insisted that the priestesses were communing with the goddess and not to be disturbed. Corinne wheedled and coaxed, and used all the charm at her disposal, but the sister was adamant. She supposed it was too much to expect a Priestess of Dibella to be susceptible to her persuasive abilities, effective as they otherwise were.  
  
"I'm sorry, ma'am, but the sisters are not accepting any visitors for any reason," she said firmly. "You may receive your blessing at the altar if you wish, but personalized blessings, as well as healing services and wedding rituals, are absolutely out of the question."  
  
"Are you sure--" Corinne started to say and then abruptly stopped. "Wait, weddings? I thought weddings were only performed by priests of Mara."  
  
"Yes," said the priestess with exaggerated patience, "but as the only Temple of Mara in Skyrim is in Riften, _ordinarily_ Mother Hamal will allow ceremonies to be performed here at the temple, seeing as how the journey is so long, and beyond the reach of some of the poorer of Markarth's citizens. Dibella's love is no less generous than Mara's, stranger."  
  
"I'm sure it is," said Corinne distractedly. "Excuse me, I need to get to the market before all the stalls close."  
  
The priestess nodded and turned away, returning to her devotionals at the altar of Dibella.  
  
Instead of going down to the market, though, Corinne made a beeline towards Bothela's, and started scouring her stock for certain very specific ingredients.  
  
"Got any nirnroot or ice wraith teeth?" she asked, mentally cataloging her own inventory of alchemical components.  
  
Bothela cackled. "Someone's making invisibility potions, eh? I got some ice wraith teeth here. How many do you need?"  
  
"Mmm, not sure," said Corinne. "I'll take everything you've got. It's not like I can have too many."  
  
"You know, there are easier ways to find out if your man is cheating on you," said the old lady as she wrapped up her purchases.  
  
Corinne snorted. "Don't got a man, and I've got a much better use in mind for these. Never did get the point of jealousy. If someone cheats on you, you leave and move on. Why waste all that time being jealous and paranoid?"  
  
"You're young," said Bothela. "You've never been in love, yet. Someday you'll know what it feels like."  
  
"People always say that," she complained, "and it's hardly ever true."  
  
"Mmm hmm?" said Bothela, smiling slyly. "And how old is miss, that she has all the wisdom of the ages behind her?"  
  
"Twenty four," she replied.  
  
"Mmm, I see," said Bothela. "Well, if you ever _do_ get yourself a man, remember that you can get everything you need at old Bothela's."  
  
Corinne smiled and winked at the old lady. "I'm hardly likely to forget. Can I use your lab to mix some potions?"  
  
"Come in any time," said Bothela. "So long as the door's unlocked, you're welcome here."  
  
She was out late that night and was terribly tempted to sleep late the next morning, but she reminded herself over and over that she had too much to do. There would be time to sleep later. When that ' _later_ ' would be, and whether it would have to wait until after she'd defeated Alduin, ended the civil war, and cured every other one of Skyrim's aches and pains, was a question best left for an idle hour. She put the thought firmly out of her mind and, sleep-deprived though she was, made the long climb to present herself before the Mournful Throne.  
  
"News?" asked Thongvor when he saw her.  
  
"I have to fetch something from Karthwasten for the sisters," said Corinne. "Hopefully once I've accomplished that, they'll start feeling more sociable again. And I've had another idea, but I'll tell you about that once I've gotten back from Karthwasten."  
  
He smiled. "I look forward to hearing it. Talos guide you, Dragonborn. Come back safe."  
  
***  
  
Before she headed out, she made sure to visit Moth at his forge and check in on his progress with the dragon scales.  
  
"These things are incredible," he said, showing her a segment of the chest-piece that he had completed and set aside, waiting to be attached to its neighbors. "It'll never be as light as elven armor, but it's stronger than anything I've seen. No wonder those scaly bastards are so hard to kill."  
  
"Have there been dragon attacks in Markarth?" asked Corinne. "There weren't any when I was in the city."  
  
Moth nodded. "Big ugly bastard came in from the mountains, north of the city. Took a few arrows from the city guard, then it turned around and flew away like nothing."  
  
"There must be a burial mound there," said Corinne with a frown. "I'll have to check it out after I finish playing fetch for the temple."  
  
"Still running errands for the new Jarl?" asked Moth, amused. "You know all you have to do to get him to make you thane is ask all pretty, right?"  
  
"Maybe I'm doing it for the city," she suggested cheekily.  
  
"Kid," said Moth, laying a heavy hand on her shoulder, "the best thing you can do for this city is finally sucking Thongvor's cock, so he can move on with his life."  
  
She had really no idea what to do with that suggestion.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> After I wrote this chapter, I checked the wiki and found out that Banning is actually marked as a Breton, not a Nord. So... just pretend there were some other Nords at Namira's feast who weren't named in the game.


	7. Household Peace

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Silver-Bloods air their grievances.

On the first day, Thongvor had no time to worry about Corinne's exploits. There was too much else to occupy his time. It was as though the entire city had only been waiting to pass into his stewardship before exploding into chaos and mayhem. A violent ague was taking root in the Warrens, ore production was down in the mines, and Betrid had thrown a public tantrum after catching Thonar making overtures to the tavern wench (whose father was none too pleased with this development, either). Between all of these things, he had to figure out some way to discover where Elske Wild-Water had gone to ground. Just when he thought that if one more thing went wrong, he would start screaming as Betrid had done, he received news that his court wizard was threatening to resign and move to Solitude.  
  
"Into the heart of enemy territory, no less! Do you think he's been spying for the Imperials all along?" he asked Reburrus. "He wouldn't be the first of Tullius's spies we've rooted out."  
  
"My lord," replied Reburrus, "if he were truly spying for the Imperials, do you think he would be so open about his plans?"  
  
Thongvor rubbed his chin thoughtfully. "Good point. Why else would he be going to Solitude, of all places? Doesn't he know there's a war going on?"  
  
"I doubt he does, sire," said Reburrus. "Calcelmo has never paid much attention to anything but his study of Dwemer history."  
  
"Replacing him would be a terrible bother," said Thongvor. "We still haven't replaced Igmund's chef, have we? You ever find out what happened to him?"  
  
Reburrus opened his mouth but didn't get a chance to answer before Yngvar cut in.  
  
"Boss," he said, "I'm pretty sure I know what Calcelmo's looking for in Solitude."  
  
"What is it?" he demanded, his temper beginning to fray.  
  
"Faleen," said Yngvar simply.  
  
Thongvor blinked. "Igmund's housecarl? I thought she was taken prisoner alongside him when we liberated the Keep. And what does an old elven wizard have to do with the traitor's bodyguard, anyway?"  
  
"Imperial sympathizers ambushed the convoy and liberated the captured jarl, somewhere in the neighborhood of Rorikstead," said Reburrus.  
  
"And Calcelmo is in love with Faleen," added Yngvar. "Has been for years."  
  
This was a great deal of information for Thongvor to process.  
  
"My lord, if he wants to resign, there's not very much we can do to stop him," said Reburrus. "We _could_ have him followed and captured when he tries to cross the border, but arresting him for defection wouldn't bring him back into your service, and he's hardly likely to survive long in Cidhna Mine."  
  
Thongvor drew his hand over his eyes. "Reburrus, draft a letter to the College of Winterhold. Make sure Jarl Korir doesn't get wind of it. Ask them if they have any available staff for an opening. Barring that, one of their recent graduates would do, provided it's a Nord."  
  
"Sire?" asked Reburrus, frowning.  
  
"I'm willing to put up with an inexperienced court wizard, Reburrus," he replied irately, "and I'm willing to put up with a foreigner, but damn me thrice to Oblivion if I put up with someone who's both."  
  
"Understood, sire," said the steward. "Anything else I can help you with?"  
  
Thongvor sighed and rubbed his face. "What else needs doing?"  
  
"Your brother requests your company at dinner tonight," he replied.  
  
"Scared to face Betrid alone, I assume," muttered Thongvor. "Fine. Sent a courier, tell him I'm attending. That should ease his nerves a little. He's always been a coward."  
  
"As you say, of course, my Jarl," said Reburrus.  
  
"Any news from the border with Hjaalmarch?" he asked finally.  
  
"No recent clashes with the Legion that I'm aware of," said Reburrus.  
  
"Good," said Thongvor. "Make sure the Stormcloaks get everything they need. Any supplies they ask for, immediately. Spare no expense."  
  
"Yes, sire," said Reburrus with a sigh.  
  
***  
  
Dinner was tense, as he knew it would be. Betrid seethed with such powerful rage it came off her in waves, like heat from a forge. Across the table from her, Thonar affected a cool, disinterested silence and conversed only with his brother. Nana Ildene, the ancient maid whom Thonar had always had a soft spot for, served the meal. Every so often she would rest her hand on Betrid's shoulder while she was serving her food or wine, and Betrid's infernal rage would retreat like the tide. When she passed by Thonar, she bent down to whisper something in his ear, which made him crack a very thin, very brittle smile.  
  
She left Thongvor mostly alone, which was for the best. Still, even with the elderly servant's intervention, the atmosphere in the room was almost unbearable. Thongvor could only bear it by drinking one mead after another, and switching to brandy once the last dishes had been cleared. Once his brother had snidely went off to bed, excusing himself by insisting that unlike _some people_ he had to work in the morning, it was just him and Betrid. Thonar's wife regarded him from under hooded eyes, sipping her own brandy.  
  
"Where's your young shadow at, Thongvor?" she asked, all false sweetness now that her husband was gone.  
  
"I've no idea who you're talking about," he replied shortly.  
  
"Don't play coy with me, Thongvor," she said, leaning forward in her seat. "You're not smart enough. That waifish Redguard creature you and Thonar won't stop raving about. Did she leave already? What did you do to scare her off?"  
  
"Corinne Snow-Hammer?" he asked, deliberately using the Stormcloak rank to gall her. "The girl your husband was doing business with?"  
  
Betrid snorted. "Snow-Hammer, my foot. I doubt that girl could even swing a real warhammer, let alone wield one properly. She's all bones, not a curve on her anywhere."  
  
"Sounds like she's not really Thonar's type, then," said Thongvor, "so I'm not sure why you're so jealous."  
  
"I'm not jealous!" snarled Betrid.  
  
"Maybe you should follow your husband into the bedroom and get some sleep," he suggested. "You know he's in there, waiting for you."  
  
She snorted again. "So you can stay out here alone and drink yourself into a stupor?"  
  
"Why shouldn't I?" he asked bitterly. "Betrid, unless you can get me a Priest of Talos, or Tullius's head on a pike, you're of no use to me. Leave me be."  
  
"Anything you say, brother dear," she replied acidly, getting up with all her usual fluid grace. "Be it on your head. Nana, try to make sure he doesn't choke on his own vomit, would you?"  
  
"Of course, dear," Nana Ildene, who'd seen much worse within the Treasury House's four walls, replied placidly.  
  
Thongvor looked at the two of them and decided to return to his brandy.  
  
***  
  
After safely depositing the child sybil with Mother Hamal, unharmed but more than a little shaken by her close brush with death, Corinne decided she needed to report her success to the Jarl of the Reach. When she couldn't find him either in Understone Keep or at the Shrine of Talos, she hesitated for a few moments but decided she might as well ask his brother where he'd got to. Her reception at the Treasury House was decidedly cool. Rhiada was standing at the counter again, dressed in a more modest outfit that completely failed to hide the changes from her recent birth. Behind her, Corinne could just glimpse an infant swaddled in a large basket, sleeping peacefully.  
  
She glanced at Betrid Silver-Blood -- who was staring intently at the book in her hands without turning a single page -- and turned back to Rhiada. "Is your boss in today?"  
  
"He's in the back office, as always," said Rhiada tiredly.  
  
Betrid snorted but kept staring at her book.  
  
"I'll just let myself in," said Corinne doubtfully. "Why don't you get back to your--"  
  
Before she could finish the sentence Rhiada had turned away and was checking her baby's breathing fretfully. Since the baby was all she had left of her brief marriage to Eltrys, Corinne hardly felt like she could blame her. She rapped on Thonar's door and let herself in.  
  
"Leave the door open," said Thonar sourly. "What do you need?"  
  
"I'm looking for your brother, actually," she said. "I was hoping you could tell me where he'd got to."  
  
"Sleeping off an excess of mead in our back room, unfortunately," he answered.  
  
"Oh," said Corinne. "Is this a usual habit with him?"  
  
"Nothing's very usual about this situation, Corinne," said Thonar. "But no. He was never a heavy drinker before Ulfric saddled him with the jarldom of the Reach. Who knew that getting what you wanted could taste so bitter?"  
  
"A shame," said Corinne. "I actually had some good news for him, but I suppose he'll hear about it sooner or later. I have to get to Sky Haven Temple, but maybe I'll see him when I get back."  
  
"No thaneship yet?" asked Thonar.  
  
"No such luck," she replied. "Hey, is that why your wife is so high-strung today? Because Thongvor got drunk and ruined her evening?"  
  
"Oh, no," said Thonar, waving a hand dismissively. "She's jealous."  
  
"Jealous," repeated Corinne.  
  
"Of you," he admitted.  
  
She snorted.  
  
"Exactly," he agreed. "I tried to tell her that you're not my type--"  
  
"Nor you mine," said Corinne.  
  
"--but does she listen to me?"  
  
"I'd obviously prefer someone younger and more robust, like your man Yngvar," she went on.  
  
"Huh?" he asked, momentarily sidetracked.  
  
"You know, that brute you hired to be your brother's bodyguard," she said. "Good hair, nice arms. True, he's a bit feral, but it's all part of that rustic Nord charm, you know?"  
  
When she heard laughter from behind the half-open door, she knew her battle was won.  
  
Betrid glided into the room smiling acidly and said, "He won't have you, you know. I have it on good authority that he prefers gentlemen."  
  
"Betrid?" said Thonar, an odd note of betrayal in his voice.  
  
"Oh, don't be silly, Thonar," she scoffed. "Unlike our young friend here, I find nothing charming about brutishness, Nord or otherwise. If I did, I would have married your brother. Little did I know that he was the more ambitious of you two."  
  
Her husband made a high-pitched noise of distress, and Corinne began to slowly back out of the room. She had no luck, as Betrid spun on her heel to face her, smiling more viciously than before.  
  
"You should get him while you can," she said in a stage whisper. "He needs heirs, and he'll only get more eligible when this blasted war is finally over."  
  
"If I wanted him, I'd have had him already," Corinne informed her.  
  
Betrid actually laughed. "Good girl."  
  
Corinne watched dumbfounded as Betrid stalked out of her husband's office like a prowling sabrecat, slamming the door behind her. From behind the door, she could hear faint noises of distress, and what sounded like glassware shattering. Betrid, unconcerned, swept her skirts out of the way and deposited her behind back in her chair.  
  
She waved over one of the elderly servants and said, "Nana, I'm feeling _peckish_. Get me some cold venison and bread."  
  
Corinne knew that she needed to be on her way, and that she would be wise to escape before the tempest of the Silver-Blood household erupted again, but she couldn't help but keep staring at Betrid Silver-Blood. Betrid, for her part, met her stare with the equanimity of a sated predator.  
  
"You're really not interested in my husband," she said thoughtfully. It wasn't a question.  
  
"Like I said," replied Corinne, "if I wanted him, he'd've already been mine."  
  
She didn't laugh again, but looked deadly serious. "I meant what I said, too, girl. If you want Thongvor, make your move and make it soon. Divines know he needs it."  
  
"I might," said Corinne thoughtfully, "but not today. Good day, Betrid. I'd love to stay and chat, but I have a dragon to slay."  
  
***  
  
After the door shut behind her, Thongvor stepped out from behind the turn of the corridor, rough with sleep and looking rather worse for wear.  
  
Betrid looked up and caught him staring at his feet. "How much of that did you hear?" she asked.  
  
"Just the end," he said shortly.  
  
"Any thoughts on the matter, brother mine?" she asked, her voice turning to vinegar in an instant.  
  
"Betrid," said Thongvor, "you need to start minding your own business."


	8. Housecarl Business

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Corinne slays a dragon and meets some strangers.

Corinne's welcome at Sky Haven Temple was cooler than she might have hoped.  
  
"Have you gotten the Elder Scroll?" asked Esbern with no preamble when he looked up from his writing and found her standing there.  
  
"Not yet," she admitted. "I'm gathering supplies to venture down into Blackreach and retrieve it. It's proven to require some... additional steps."  
  
"Then have you brought us any new recruits?" asked Delphine.  
  
She thought of Vorstag, and wondered whether he would excel as a Blade, or languish. "No, but I have a possible candidate in mind. Speaking of which, I don't suppose any of you could accompany me to Blackreach? It's a dangerous mission, I know, and it _probably_ won't involve any dragon-slaying--"  
  
Delphine cut her off immediately. "Can't. Training."  
  
"Huh," said Corinne. "All right. Have the Thalmor sent any more assassins after you?"  
  
"None since Riften, thank Akatosh," said Esbern.  
  
"Not yet," added Delphine ominously.  
  
"Well, there's a dragon burial mound north of Markarth city," said Corinne, "and the locals report they spotted a live dragon circling in the area. I know it's not the Dragontooth Crater dragon because I already killed that one. Is anyone available to lend me a hand dispatching this fellow?"  
  
"You can take Lydia," offered Delphine. "She's gotten far enough in her training, she ought to be able to handle it. Do you have enough arrows?"  
  
"I should, yes," she answered.  
  
"I can say a blessing over you, Dragonborn," added Esbern.  
  
"Anything you can do to help," replied Corinne with relief. "I keep expecting this dragon-slaying business to get less frightening, but I almost pop my heart out of my chest every time their great scaly carcasses hit the ground like an earthquake."  
  
Delphine smiled thinly. "That's good. Fear keeps you humble -- if you don't allow it to become a paralytic. Come back when the dragon is dead, and we'll look at the map together to figure out where the next one will rise."  
  
"And bring me some scale and bone, if you can!" added Esbern with unusual energy.  
  
***  
  
Corinne fully intended to celebrate her victory over the dragon once she got back to Markarth, but not before she concluded her business in Understone Keep. Provided, that was, the Jarl was now fully conscious and sober. She had salvaged the bone and scale from the creature's fallen skeleton and sent samples back to Sky Haven Temple with Lydia, while keeping the bulk of the bone with her, to sell. She still didn't understand how she and Vorstag had managed to completely miss the creature on their way to Ragnvald, but as the oversight was now corrected, there was nothing more to be done about it.  
  
When she stepped into the throne room of the Keep she saw the Jarl deep in conversation with a pair of Stormcloak officers. Judging by the expression on his face, the conversation wasn't going to his liking. She was about to go ask Moth about his progress on the dragonscale, and maybe wring some coin from him in exchange for the bones that weighed down her saddlebags, when she noticed a strange man sitting on a bench at the foot of the steps leading to the Mournful Throne.  
  
Well, strange to her, at any rate.  
  
Corinne assessed him rapidly. He was a Nord, clearly, tall and yellow-haired. He was also a warrior, judging by his steel armor and the warpaint on his face. When he turned to look at her, she noticed that something was not quite right with his eyes. One of them, she saw on closer inspection, was clouded and white.  
  
And both of them were now fixed in her direction.  
  
Corinne put on her least-threatening expression and went to introduce herself.  
  
"Well-met, stranger," she said. "Assuming we _are_ strangers. Please don't tell me that we've been introduced, and I've gone and forgotten your name. That would be unspeakably embarrassing."  
  
The Nord laughed and stuck out his gauntleted hand, which she shook with a clink of steel-on-steel.  
  
"No, we've not been introduced," he said. "I would surely remember being introduced to you. Argis the Bulwark, pleased to meet you."  
  
"Always a pleasure to meet a man who has mastered the fine art of flattery," replied Corinne. "My name's Corinne af-Umasa. Bulwark's an unusual name. Were you abandoned on the doorstep of the guard tower, only to be raised in shifts by the city guard?"  
  
Argis laughed again and shook his head. "In my profession, we're expected to set aside our loyalty to our family or clan to perform our service with honor. Shedding the surname is supposed to emphasize that. Any bynames we come by during our service, though, are rightfully ours to keep."  
  
"Hence, Bulwark," she guessed.  
  
"Exactly," he replied, smiling.  
  
"What job is this, exactly, where surnames are not permitted?" she dared to ask.  
  
Argis smiled and said, "I'm one of the Reach's housecarls."  
  
She nodded, having suspected as much.  
  
"Why the frown, if I might ask?" he asked. "Something against housecarls as a profession?"  
  
Corinne gnawed on her lip. "Not exactly," she said. "Just one bad experience that I probably shouldn't generalize from. Excuse me, I see the Jarl has become suddenly free, and I assume you're here to speak with him, as I am."  
  
"Oh, no!" said Argis. "A housecarl hardly ever interacts directly with the Jarl. All my business is with the steward, Reburrus Quintilius. I guess this is our parting."  
  
Corinne, filled with cunning suspicion, said, "I guess it is, but I'll be at the inn later tonight celebrating a recent victory if you're interested in talking."  
  
He grinned and said, "I might have to take you up on that."  
  
They parted ways amicably and, while Argis went to corner the steward, Corinne approached the throne, where Thongvor Silver-Blood slouched moodily. Before she could launch into her prepared words, he sprang up from his seat and down the steps towards her.  
  
"Come with me, please," he said, grasping her around the arm. "I need to have a private word with you."  
  
"Oh," said Corinne, nonplussed. "Well, I suppose I-- yes, I also had something to-- oh, all right."  
  
Thongvor, unconcerned, drew her by the arm away from the throne room and into the very war room where they had first spoken, weeks earlier. When they entered, the room was occupied by the two Stormcloak officers of before. The first was Thorygg Sun-Killer, who was familiar enough with Corinne to greet her with a friendly nod. The second was a young Nord woman, ice-scorched and black-haired, who looked to the older Thorygg deferentially, though she was wearing officer's armor herself. Corinne would have questioned her qualifications, but given her own quickened rise through the ranks, it seemed silly to be skeptical.  
  
"Thorygg, I need the room," said Thongvor when they entered.  
  
The female officer gave Corinne a covert, sidelong glance.  
  
"Yes, my Jarl," said Thorygg promptly. "If you have further need of me, I'll be at the inn."  
  
Thongvor nodded, and the two officers departed, but not before the girl shot one last speculative look behind her.  
  
When the door shut behind them, Thongvor rounded on her with a look of desperation in his eyes. "I understand you came looking for me, the other day."  
  
"Ye-es," said Corinne slowly. "Have you heard about the new sybil of Dibella?"  
  
He looked blank for a moment before comprehension dawned. "Ah, your mission for the sisters. Well, that's excellent. Did you seek me out just to deliver the good news in person?"  
  
Corinne smiled wryly. "I'll be honest, you looked like you needed it."  
  
"Regardless," he said, "it was quite welcome news. I admit that we've had a dearth of that in Markarth, lately."  
  
"Is that what you called me aside to discuss?" she asked.  
  
He cleared his throat. "I wanted to apologize. I hope my-- _indisposition_ of the other day didn't inconvenience you too much."  
  
"Not much," said Corinne, "and I reasoned that you would hear the temple's good news even without my intervention, so it didn't put you out much, either."  
  
"Not at all," said Thongvor, and tried for a smile. "Was there anything else you needed from me?"  
  
"I think that's my line," said Corinne.  
  
He frowned, puzzled.  
  
"I believe, my lord," said Corinne, "that I'm the one who's meant to ask you what you need from me."  
  
His face changed colors rapidly.  
  
"As it seems you have no _pressing_ needs," she went on, "I believe I'll be on my way. I'd been meaning to celebrate my most recent victory at the inn. First, though, I wanted to ask about the man who was speaking to your steward, earlier."  
  
"Earlier today?" he asked.  
  
"Yes, just now," she answered, turning in the direction of the throne room. "Big burly Nord with warpaint? I just saw him a few moments ago."  
  
"Ah," said Thongvor. "Argis. One of our housecarls."  
  
"Oh, excellent," said Corinne. "I suppose I might look forward to dragging him down into all manner of murky dens of iniquity, and so forth?"  
  
"If he becomes your housecarl, then yes," said Thongvor tightly.  
  
"And if not," replied Corinne cheerfully, "then I suppose I'll have the pleasure of greeting your _other_ new thane."  
  
Thongvor grunted, and she decided she had tormented him quite enough, for one day.  
  
"I'll be off, then," she said, "unless you need something else from me."  
  
"No, no," said Thongvor, clenching and unclenching his fists.  
  
"I'm sure we'll run across each other again, soon," said Corinne. "Remind me to tell you all about my victory over Kriipaalzin."  
  
"You still haven't told me how exactly you ended up in Skyrim," he reminded her.  
  
"Ah, yes," she said, smiling. "That's a good story, too. Seems like I'm pretty deep in debt to you."  
  
He coughed into his fist.  
  
Still smiling, she got up to depart. "Soon enough," she said.  
  
***  
  
Corinne found plenty of company at the inn, where Ogmund the skald caught wind of her recent exploits and pressed her for every detail she could remember of the fight with Kriipaalzin. Other patrons crowded in around them and, for their benefit, he repeated everything she told him, only more loudly, and with much greater creative flourish. When she asked him whether he didn't need to be taking notes, he laughed outright.  
  
"I remember every tale I ever heard, girl," he said confidently. "Bard's memory. Can't be a true Nord skald without it. Ah, and your tale, it's a gem of one."  
  
She laughed. "You're a terrible flatterer. You'll make my head swell up with pride."  
  
Ogmund was delighted and made her explain the Breton idiom before launching into another series of questions about her previous dragon-slaying adventures.  
  
Corinne couldn't stop laughing. "Slow down!" she said. "I can't _possibly_ tell you my entire life story in one night."  
  
"I think he's only interested in your more recent adventures, Dragonborn," said an unfamiliar voice.  
  
She turned her head and came face-to-face with the young Stormcloak officer of before. On second inspection, she thought the swarthy skin of her face was probably naturally come by, not burnt from the sunlight bouncing off the snow. She might have been part Cyrod, or even Dunmer.  
  
"I don't believe we've been introduced," said Corinne, offering her most welcoming smile.  
  
Thorygg popped up behind her shoulder, smiling broadly. "This is Yuna Mist-Watcher," he said. "She came all the way up from Bruma to join our cause. A true Nord, if ever I saw one."  
  
Yuna ducked her head at the compliment and mumbled something indistinct, which caused Thorygg to clap her on the back.  
  
"Don't be _too_ modest, Yuna. You've proven yourself one of us."  
  
"Thorygg is right, Yuna," said Corinne, feeling tipsy and cheerful. "I never counsel too much modesty. It's on you to make sure that people appreciate you properly, and learn never to take you for granted."  
  
Yuna nodded solemnly, clearly awed to have received such personal advice from the fabled Dragonborn.  
  
Corinne laughed and, turning back to Ogmund, asked, "Do you want to hear the terrible tale of Maeveth Sweeney?"  
  
The skald cocked his head in interest. "That sounds like a tale to tell. Is this one of your own adventures, Dragonborn?"  
  
"Absolutely," she answered. "My very first adventure in Skyrim, in fact. It happened before I knew I was Dragonborn, but not _very_ long before. I was a bounty hunter, you see, and I had picked up a bounty out of Dragonstar..."  
  
***  
  
Thongvor gazed sourly after the man who walked away from his throne, headed in the direction of the inn, no doubt.  
  
"Are you sure we have no one else available?" he asked his steward again.  
  
"My lord, the Two-Scythes clan have always been loyal, and Argis has proven himself able," said Reburrus, a hint of impatience staining his usually unctuous voice. "We haven't got so many loyal men that we can afford to turn any away, especially with Ulfric Stormcloak demanding more and more of our city guard for the war effort."  
  
"I told you, Reburrus," said Thongvor, feeling his voice rising, "the Stormcloaks are to get everything they ask for, no questions asked."  
  
"Yes, my Jarl," said the steward tiredly.  
  
"Didn't he have a sister?" asked Thongvor suddenly.  
  
"What?"  
  
"Agni Two-Scythes had twins, didn't she?" he asked again. "I remember it well. It was right after we took the city back. Twins, a boy and a girl."  
  
"I can inquire after the sister if you like, my lord," said Reburrus, "but last I heard, she was serving as a housecarl in one of the cities outside our hold."  
  
"Which city?" asked Thongvor.  
  
"Solitude, I believe."  
  
He really hated Solitude.


	9. The Counter-Offer

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Corinne celebrates the defeat of Kriipaalzin with some new friends.

"...and that was why the wanted posters all over Dragonstar called her _Maeveth the Bastard_!"  
  
Her listeners cheered and clapped as Corinne stood up and gave an only slightly wobbly bow. Ogmund clapped hardest of all, and then yawned and excused himself with a quip about being an old man who needed sleep, and white nights being for the young. Thorygg had long since retreated back to the safety of the Keep, but he'd given Yuna leave to stay as late as she liked. The young officer watched Corinne, starry-eyed, and hung off of her every word. Vorstag was also about, the inn being his usual stomping grounds when he wasn't out on a job, and Argis had come to join them sometime midway through her telling the tale of her pursuit of Maeveth Sweeney.  
  
Corinne was surrounded by people and merriment, food in her belly, and ale in her hand, which was just to her liking. What better way to be than warm, safe, and contented, with good friends to either side of her? Tomorrow she would have to face her troubles again, and she still couldn't say when she'd be able to leave for Blackreach, but she wasn't so drunk that she expected to wake up rough or struggle through her day. Morning worries were for the morning, and it was still nighttime in Markarth.  
  
She would have been content to go on drinking, laughing, and swapping tales of improbable -- _mostly_ factual -- exploits had she not spotted a familiar, yet unexpected face in the crowd. Setting down her half-empty ale bottle on the table, Corinne slipped away from the raucous, laughing crowd and wandered in the direction of the inn's front door. There, a familiar figure was leaning against the wall, arms crossed over his chest. At least he wasn't still wearing a steel breastplate. She couldn't imagine how uncomfortable _that_ would be.  
  
She sent a quick prayer to the First Serpent that she was not too drunk to properly modulate her voice, before leaning casually on the wall at his side and tipping her head towards him to murmur a few words.  
  
"You missed my first three tellings of the tale of Maeveth the Bastard."  
  
"Unfortunately," said Thongvor, "I only caught the very end of it. Your last bounty, I presume?"  
  
"My last as a real bounty hunter," she agreed. "I still pick them up, now and then, when I'm short of cash. There are always bandit nests to clear or dangerous beasts to exterminate. And there are the dragons."  
  
"This pays well?" he asked idly.  
  
It occurred to her with sudden and violent clarity that Thongvor Silver-Blood had never truly worked for a living. Oh, he _worked_ , certainly, but he worked for his ambition and for his cause, not for the fear of not having food to put on the table. For Corinne, whose mother had spent years mending sails to support herself and her ailing sister, this life was as incomprehensible as that of a mammoth-herding giant. She elected not to share this thought with Thongvor, naturally.  
  
"Oh, no, the pay is shit," she answered cheerfully. "I often got more money for returning lost possessions than I did for clearing out a whole cave full of bandits, and killing their leader."  
  
Thongvor's lip curled. "Even in the Reach?"  
  
Corinne looked at him sidelong. "I never went into Understone Keep until the bloody Thalmor were thrown out."  
  
"Smart girl," was all he said.  
  
"But so long as I can swing my sword, I know I can make a living," she said.  
  
He leaned over, the better to be heard over the clamoring crowd, and murmured, "What happens when you _can't_ swing your sword?"  
  
Corinne looked up at the firelight reflected in his pale eyes and replied simply, "I die."  
  
"I can't let that happen," he said, perfectly serious.  
  
"Well, I'm not keen on it, either," said Corinne, feeling the ale settle sourly in her stomach, "but I expect I'll die, sooner or later, regardless of my wishes."  
  
"If you accept my offer--" he began.  
  
She ruthlessly cut in before he could get into his stride. "I have a counter-proposal for you."  
  
"You do?" he asked, nonplussed.  
  
Corinne leaned back against the wall and casually scanned the crowded room. Most of the bustle and activity was on the opposite side of the barroom, near the fire, where drinking, singing, and merriment were still going on with great energy. Argis and Vorstag had struck up a friendly card game and Yuna was pestering Hroki for more mead. No one looked in the direction of the door, and none of the patrons seemed aware that the tavern's owner -- _their Jarl_ \-- was standing just there, within earshot. All the same, she would prefer not to have an audience for this, for the sake of both their reputations.  
  
"Not here," she said and, taking hold of his arm, pulled him into the mouth of the corridor that led up to the guest rooms.  
  
When they were tucked invisibly into the shadowy corridor, Thongvor turned to her with a heavy frown and asked, "Is all this cloak and dagger really necessary?"  
  
She gestured at one of the closed doors and said, "I rented that room if you would rather have this conversation in there."  
  
There was not enough light in the corridor for her to tell whether he blushed at that, but she liked to imagine that he did.  
  
"What's your counter-offer, then, Dragonborn?" he asked.  
  
Instead of answering properly, Corinne braced a hand on his chest, rose up on the balls of her feet, and pressed in to test his mouth. She knew that she was drunker than she ought to be and that she would not have gone about her business in this manner if she were sober, but she was also just drunk enough not to care. Thongvor reacted on instinct, and his instinct was to open his mouth and deepen the kiss while wrapping his right arm around her waist to crush her against his chest.  
  
All in all, a successful experiment.  
  
They parted, holding still just a short distance apart. His mouth hung open and panting though it had not been a very long kiss. She resisted the urge to lean into him and steal his body warmth, drawing circles against his chest with the pad of her thumb.  
  
"What was that for?" he asked, his voice husky.  
  
"I had to know," said Corinne, "before I decided."  
  
"And what did you decide?" he asked.  
  
"I think you should marry me," she said resolutely.  
  
"...what?" he asked weakly.  
  
"That's my counter-offer," she said. "It would be to both of our benefits, I'm certain of it. Really, I only had one misgiving, and you've just resolved that one rather neatly, so I think it would work well all around if we got married."  
  
"You're drunk," said Thongvor accusingly.  
  
"Perhaps," said Corinne, "but this is not an idea that just occurred to me, so you can't blame it on my intoxication."  
  
"And you kissed me... _why_?" he asked.  
  
"Call me old-fashioned," said Corinne, "but I refuse to marry a man who doesn't desire me."  
  
"I find it difficult to imagine _any_ man not desiring you," he said.  
  
She eyed him. "Are _you_ drunk?"  
  
"What? No!"  
  
"Good," she said, leaning up to wrap her arms around his neck. "I don't like to take advantage of inebriated men."  
  
Before she could kiss him again, though, he put his hand over her mouth, stopping her in her tracks. Corinne made a muffled noise of surprise and dismay. She was _not_ used to her kisses being refused under any circumstances.  
  
"Are you sure you know what you're doing?" asked Thongvor.  
  
"More than most, I'll wager," replied Corinne. "Are you not interested? I'd hate to think that I misread the situation."  
  
He brushed his mouth up her jawline and to her ear, whispering, "Oh, I'm interested."  
  
Corinne sighed deeply and leaned into him. "Mmm, excellent. Then let's--"  
  
"Let's take this someplace more discreet, don't you think?" he offered.  
  
The thought of climbing all the winding steps up to the Keep made her groan.  
  
Thongvor sighed and rested his forehead on her shoulder. "Corinne, I think you've had more to drink than you realize. You should go to sleep. Come up to the Keep tomorrow and we can discuss this in a civilized way, at a civilized hour."  
  
She groaned again. "It's been too long."  
  
"How long?" he asked, his voice dropping.  
  
"You'd laugh at me if I told you," she replied.  
  
He smoothed his hand over her waist briefly, but then reached up and unhooked the arms that had wound around his neck. "Go to sleep," he said firmly.  
  
Before he could walk away from her, she grabbed his wrist. "Tomorrow?" she asked.  
  
"Tomorrow," he promised.  
  
***  
  
When he woke up, early the next morning, Thongvor wasn't any less confused about what had happened with Corinne down at the tavern. He had seen her at the center of attention, bright-eyed and in her element, with the whole room listening to every word out of her mouth. He had seen her turn away from all this, and come seek him out. He honestly did not know which part baffled him more: the idea that she wanted to bed him, or that she wanted to _marry_ him.  
  
Well, perhaps the first part was easy to explain. She had mentioned something about a dry spell, and for such an energetic young woman, a living legend with a dragon's soul no less, that would be hard to tolerate. But was she not surrounded by men last night? It was impossible to assume that every single one of them had turned down her advances. As if anyone in their right mind would turn down the Dragonborn. As for the second matter, he was at such a loss that he was even reduced to asking his steward for advice.  
  
"Reburrus," he asked, once they had settled in their -- by now usual -- places at the Mournful Throne, "what would make a young, beautiful woman agree to marry a man twice her age?"  
  
"Money," said Reburrus, unerringly and without hesitation. "Status. Power. A title. Protection from other powers that might mean her harm. All of these are within your means to provide if you're thinking of wedding, my lord. It would be wise not to leave the matter of heirs up to chance, and a young wife would obviously suit much better for such matters."  
  
"Really?" said Thongvor skeptically.  
  
"There are a number of prominent families in Skyrim with daughters of the right age, my lord," replied Reburrus. "If you would like me to arrange--"  
  
"Really?" he said again. "Which great family do you imagine would want to wed their daughter to me? And would the daughters in question even agree to such an arrangement?"  
  
Reburrus ignored the latter part of the question and launched into his list. "The Grey-Mane clan are loyal Stormcloak supporters and they have a young, unmarried daughter. Maven Black-Briar also has a daughter around the same age. She does have Imperial sympathies, but her business connections would be useful, and it's not as though we can afford to avoid trading with the Imperial province indefinitely. The Jarl of Hjaalmarch--"  
  
" _Maven Black-Briar's_ daughter? Really?" asked Thongvor. "Even supposing her mother would ally with a Stormcloak-aligned hold, if the girl takes after her mother in temperament, she would murder me in my bed as soon as wed me."  
  
"From what I hear through the grapevine," opined Yngvar, "if anything, the younger Black-Briar is worse than her mother."  
  
All three men shuddered at that improbable thought.  
  
"Moving on," said Reburrus, who had clearly given the matter far too much thought, "there is also Clan Shatter-Shield in Windhelm."  
  
"I thought their daughter was murdered," remarked Thongvor.  
  
"No, Boss, that was the Cruel-Sea clan, their competition," said Yngvar.  
  
"Both Fjotli Cruel-Sea and Friga Shatter-Shield were murdered late last year," said Reburrus, "but the Shatter-Shields have another daughter. As far as I know, that one's still alive."  
  
"And there's Thane Bryling in Solitude," said Yngvar. "She's a real old-fashioned Nord, so I wouldn't be surprised if she was secretly a Stormcloak sympathizer."  
  
"Don't mention Solitude to me, by Ysmir!" said Thongvor irritably.  
  
"Where did someone like you meet a Thane of Solitude?" asked Reburrus snidely.  
  
"I was at the Bards' College, remember, ice-brain?"  
  
Reburrus drew himself up and prepared to launch a counter-offense, right up until Thongvor cleared his throat.  
  
"I won't hesitate to toss either of you in the mines," he said briskly. "Yngvar, keep a civil tongue. Reburrus, don't rise to his bait. I'll be in the war-room. _Don't_ call me out for anything that isn't life-and-death."  
  
They grumbled behind his back, but they would learn to obey him as unquestioningly as they did his brother. He was still the patriarch of the Silver-Blood family, and his word was law. If he had to lay down the law with Thonar, too, then so be it.  
  
But thoughts of confronting his brother could not long distract him from the recurring thought of Corinne.


	10. What About Love?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Corinne is phenomenally ill-equipped to give love advice.

When she woke up, groggy and gummy-eyed, on her rented stone bed, Corinne had cause to rethink several of last night's decisions.  
  
She stood by her initial assessment, of course. She had not come by the idea idly, although it was only when the priestess Senna had mentioned the temple performing wedding ceremonies that it had all clicked together in her mind, rather like a puzzle wall in a Nordic tomb. Thongvor and his family were _reviled_ in the Reach. Even the Nord citizens didn't think very much of them, and the native Reach folk detested them, one and all. He had the Jarl's throne, and his family's money at his back, but it would take more than a monopoly on the silver trade to make him truly Lord of the Reach. It was a land that refused to be governed, and she wondered sometimes how the Nords living in the Reach could be so insensible of this.  
  
Corinne herself, by contrast, was becoming quite popular in Markarth. True, the city and the rest of the hold were quite different beasts, but her reputation was beginning to spread outside of the city, to the outlying mines in Karthwasten and beyond. She traveled a great deal, of course, which none of the Silver-Bloods could say that they had done, and when she was on the road she was always happy to lend a hand to anyone in need, providing she didn't have an especially pressing appointment breathing fire down her neck. Not _all_ of these favors proved as dangerous as the last few had done, luckily for her sanity and her potion supplies.  
  
The name _Dragonborn_ rarely had an effect on those not of a traditional Nord upbringing, so Corinne doubted very much that it would impress the native Reach folk. On the other hand, dead dragons spoke louder than words and did so in the universal language of not perishing untimely in a fiery inferno of death. Normally she relied on brisk trade to win people over, but in the Reach, it seemed that very few shops and stalls were owned by the native people. The ones she had met were more typically stuck under the employment of the often-hostile Nords. Even those who didn't work directly for the Silver-Bloods had drawn a bad lot. The sole exception that she could think of was Imedhnain, who had taken temporary charge of the shop after Lisbet's messy demise, at least until he could locate her next of kin.  
  
Her thoughts chased themselves in circles, like a lost puppy. The Reach's problems could not be solved in one morning, of course, but one liked to have the shadow of a plan, at least. Walking into battle without a plan was a good way to get yourself killed, and Corinne still hoped to live many more years, or if not, to at least be killed by a dragon, like a proper hero of legend. They would erect a great big stone monument to her, and carve a wonderful and heroic epitaph, maybe even in the Dovahzul. It would be a site of pilgrimage for bards and warriors alike, which would give her no comfort whatsoever because she would much rather be alive.  
  
And part of the business of being alive was discovering that her mouth tasted like ash, and her stomach was cramping with hunger. Corinne threw on a dress, slipped a dagger's sheath into her belt, and let loose her braids from their careful knot. This was all she needed to stride confidently out into the main barroom and inquire after breakfast. She'd be more sensible with food in her; she always was. Maybe she should consult Betrid, who was finally beginning to warm to her and was also the definitive authority on marrying into the Silver-Blood family.  
  
"Good morning," said Vorstag cheerfully, when she settled in the chair opposite his by the fire.  
  
"Good morning," she replied. "You're certainly in high spirits. I take it the celebration didn't end after I retired, last night."  
  
"Oh, we didn't stay rowdy for much longer," he said. "Argis and Yuna both had to return to the Keep before long, and I expect they had an early morning today."  
  
"They returned to the Keep together?" asked Corinne with interest.  
  
Vorstag shrugged. "I can only report that they left in each other's company, and were headed in the same direction. If you want to know more, you'll have to ask Argis yourself."  
  
"I may do that," said Corinne thoughtfully. "I think I'll be heading up to the Keep later today."  
  
"More business for the new Jarl?" asked Vorstag. "If you need accompaniment, I have no jobs lined up for the rest of the week."  
  
Corinne frowned. "I'll think about it. I'm still not certain where I'll be going next, and who with."  
  
He laughed. "I won't be offended if you choose another traveling companion over me, you know. I still like you, even if we're not delving into dank dungeons."  
  
She flashed her brightest smile. "That's good to hear."  
  
***  
  
On her way to the Keep, she stopped to chat with Kerah, who was minding her stall in the marketplace, as well as her young daughter. Adara was no older than ten or eleven, and already learning her father's trade. She proudly showed off the silver rings she had made herself, and Corinne duly complimented them, which earned her a warm smile from the mother and squeals of delight from the daughter. It even managed to distract Adara from asking after her older brother.  
  
"Do you sell exclusively in the city?" she asked Kerah casually.  
  
"Oh, no," replied the merchant, her mouth forming a tight, thin line. "Once upon a time, maybe, but Markarth -- well, Skyrim, really -- doesn't get as many visitors as it used to." She laughed self-consciously and added, "As vain as she is, Betrid Silver-Blood can't buy _all_ our stock."  
  
"I suppose you must have contacts across the border, then," said Corinne, "to help with transporting goods and finding a market for them."  
  
Kerah nodded, her tight expression easing a little. "We make good sales in both High Rock and Hammerfell, although the cost of securing the merchant caravans has grown... _steep_."  
  
"I seem to remember this clothier in Dragonstar that I passed by a few times," said Corinne. "I used to gawk at the silks, even knowing I would never be able to afford them. I seem to remember him having some very distinctive silver designs. What was his name?"  
  
"Malik at-Ayah," said Kerah promptly, "of Malik's Star-silks. Yes, he buys Endon's work often, as did his father before him."  
  
Corinne sighed dreamily. "I saw one of his gowns, almost up-close. I was short of coin, and there were no bounties posted, so I hired on to guard a wedding procession. A slinky, silky, peacock-blue gown glittering with beads... I was positively eaten with envy."  
  
Kerah smiled. "I never would have taken you for the type of girl who lusts after silk and jewels."  
  
"Well, I don't often get the chance," said Corinne pragmatically. "Of course, I couldn't see myself leading Betrid's life, but it might be nice to own something other than armor, someday."  
  
"Oh, no," agreed Kerah, her smile widening. "You'd be bored to tears, wearing finery every day and spending all day doing nothing."  
  
"And you wouldn't?" Corinne teased back.  
  
"I would," she agreed with a sigh. "Mind you, I think I could find a happy middle between that and working this stall, twelve hours a day, seven days a week."  
  
Corinne shuddered. "My mother worked the customs desk back in--"  
  
"Back in?" prompted Kerah, leaning forward on her elbows.  
  
She pitched her voice down so that Adara wouldn't hear and said, "Back in Taneth, before I was born."  
  
Kerah winced. "Ah, how awful. Is that why you never returned to Hammerfell?"  
  
"I don't think my mother could bear it," said Corinne, "but she doesn't talk about it often. Is there anything left of Taneth to return to?"  
  
"The way I hear it, the city burned almost to the ground," said Kerah. "If the Lords of Hegathe had sent aid sooner--"  
  
Corinne shook her head. "The city was betrayed from within."  
  
Kerah clapped a hand over her mouth and whispered, "By who?"  
  
"Someone who has already paid for her crimes," she replied.  
  
Kerah looked around her at the uniformed Stormcloaks patrolling the marketplace and sighed softly. "When will these wars end?"  
  
There was no answer she could give to that, or at least, not one that the other woman would wish to hear. Instead, she decided a small misdirection was called for.  
  
"Now that the city is under Stormcloak governance," she said, "do you think your son will be reassigned closer to home?"  
  
"Oh, that would be wonderful," said Kerah, "but I don't want to get my hopes up. Besides, he wouldn't just be patrolling the city, he'd be out on the roads facing Forsworn and Divines know what else, or fighting along the Haafingar border. Maybe he's safer in Dawnstar."  
  
Corinne winced. "If not warmer."  
  
They looked at each other and burst into sudden laughter.  
  
When Endon popped up from behind his wife, he dropped a kiss on her cheek and asked, "What are you two laughing about?"  
  
"Oh, nothing," said Corinne, wiping a tear from the corner of her eye. "I'm sorry, Kerah, but I should really get going. I have business up at the Keep."  
  
"Oh, are you headed that way?" asked Kerah, perking up. "Do you mind making a delivery for me?"  
  
Corinne flashed her charmingest smile and said, "So long as it's not too heavy for me to carry, I'd be delighted."  
  
***  
  
Visiting Calcelmo was supposed to be just a short stop on the way to something else, just to drop off Kerah's delivery and save them both time. When she saw the state that he was in, and Aicantar's glum despair beside him, she sighed and plopped herself down on the bench by the enchanting table, shunting aside some Dwemer scraps to make room beside her.  
  
"Tell me everything," she said, patting the empty space on the bench.  
  
Aicantar sat down and braced his elbows on his knees, burying his face in his hands. "Uncle is saying he's going to leave Markarth, and I can't decide whether I should go with him, or stay here with my friends."  
  
Corinne blinked. " _Leave_ Markarth? Why? What about his research, and the excavation in Nchuand-Zel?"  
  
"He says none of that is as important as love," said Aicantar, "and that there are Dwemer relics in other parts of Skyrim."  
  
"What other part of Skyrim?" asked Corinne, a gnawing suspicion growing in her belly.  
  
Aicantar hesitated.  
  
"Oh, spit it out," she said. "I won't bite your head off."  
  
"Solitude," he said reluctantly.  
  
She stared at him.  
  
"The Jarl didn't take it well," he added miserably.  
  
"No," said Corinne faintly, "I don't imagine he did."  
  
"What would you do, if you had to choose between your love and your work?" he asked, wide-eyed and desperate.  
  
"I... don't know," said Corinne. "Well, I suppose right now I just about _have_ to pick my work, but that can't last forever. I'll be honest with you, Aicantar, I'm not sure I'm the one you should be asking this kind of advice from. Maybe the priestesses of Dibella..."  
  
He looked mortified. "That's not what I was thinking of _at all_ , but, uh, thank you all the same."  
  
"My mistake," said Corinne, trying to be gracious but feeling increasingly irate. "I thought you were talking about Calcelmo and Faline."  
  
"I-- I was!" he said hastily, his face turning an interesting shade of peach.  
  
"Well, then, it's very thoughtful of you to be so concerned for your uncle," said Corinne, "but he's lived long enough to know what he values most and, frankly, he's not wrong about the Dwemer ruins. I've seen them everywhere. I'm actually headed to one of them when I leave Markarth."  
  
Aicantar looked startled.  
  
"But that's not my point," she hastened to add. "It's true that Markarth has a long Dwemer history, and I'm not surprised your uncle wanted to bring your research here, but it's far from the only place your uncle can do his work." She laughed awkwardly. "I hardly expect him to give up his scholarship for love, no matter how passionate."  
  
"What about me?" he asked glumly.  
  
"You're old enough to make your own decisions, Aicantar," said Corinne. "I'm sure you and your uncle will miss each other, but Skyrim is full of people who live far away from their families, and they manage all right."  
  
"I worry about him," said Aicantar.  
  
"I know you do," she said soothingly, "but if there's one thing you can count on, it's that Faline is just as concerned for his health as you are. She'll take good care of him."  
  
"Thanks," he said, but his face was still long. "You're pretty calm about all this, for a--"  
  
"For a Stormcloak?" she asked, amused. "We might have found ourselves on opposite sides of this war, but I have no quarrel with Faline, nor even with Igmund, really. They did what they thought was best, and so did I. When the next war comes, who knows? We might find ourselves fighting side by side."  
  
Aicantar looked rather ill. "The _next_ war?"  
  
"Another time," she promised. "I do need to go see the Jarl, after all."  
  
"I hope he's not too angry at uncle," said Aicantar. "It could make my life in Markarth very uncomfortable."


	11. The Juniper Bough

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Corinne and Thongvor meet for dinner.

"I meant to arrive sooner," she said by way of an apology.  
  
"Did you stop to slay another dragon?" asked Thongvor.  
  
Corinne made a face. "There'll be time for that when I get to Windhelm. I think the Reach should be safe from dragon attacks for at least a week."  
  
"Is that a guarantee?" he asked.  
  
"As close to one as I can make it," she replied earnestly.  
  
Thongvor cleared his throat.  
  
"Did you think about what I said last night?" asked Corinne.  
  
"Corinne," he said.  
  
"Yes, that's my name," she replied with mock-solemnity.  
  
He pinched the bridge of his nose. "Corinne, are you certain you've thought this through?"  
  
"I'm not in the habit of acting thoughtlessly," she replied. "I'd been drinking, yes, to celebrate a victory, but it was not an impulsive suggestion. I promise you, I gave the matter a great deal of thought, and my thoughts on the matter today are the same as they were yesterday."  
  
"And those are?" he asked, folding his arms over his chest and assuming a businesslike tone.  
  
"You need me," she said simply.  
  
Thongvor sputtered and coughed into his hand.  
  
"Your family's reputation is _appalling_ ," she went on without a care. "If you want to render the Reach governable, you need the cooperation of the citizenry. No offense, Thongvor, but diplomacy and soft speech are not exactly your strong suit."  
  
"Dragonborn--" he began, balling his hands into fists, and then stopped short and set his palms flat on his knees. "Corinne."  
  
"Yes?" she said mildly.  
  
"It was never under question why _I_ would want to marry _you_ ," he said. "I'm asking why _you_ want to be married."  
  
She tipped her head to one side and regarded him thoughtfully. "You want me to say it's because of the money."  
  
"I wouldn't mind if you said it was for the money," he replied. "My family has been wealthy for generations. It hasn't escaped my notice."  
  
"You would mind," she said with conviction.  
  
He threw his hands in the air. "You're telling me money has nothing to do with it?"  
  
Corinne scoffed. "Of course I'm not saying that. There's nothing on Nirn that isn't to do with money. But if I said it's not _just_ about the money? Would you believe me? Would you call me a liar, or something else, maybe?"  
  
"I wouldn't call you a liar, Corinne," he said. "I wouldn't do that."  
  
She sighed. "If you're concerned, then you should know that I've been thinking on this subject for most of the past week. I meant to bring it up earlier, but there was always so much going on."  
  
He sighed deeply. "Has it been only a week since you've been in town? It felt like longer."  
  
"In a good way, I hope," she said.  
  
"I still don't see what you expect to get out of this arrangement," he said. "Can you make me understand your reasoning?"  
  
"Buy me dinner and drinks," she suggested cheekily, "and I'll tell you the story of why I joined the Stormcloaks."  
  
"You can join me for dinner, here at the Keep, whenever you like," said Thongvor. "Consider it an open invitation."  
  
Corinne shook her head. "Not here. Down in the city."  
  
"At the inn?" he asked.  
  
"That works," said Corinne. "You need to leave the Keep, every once in a while."  
  
"Yngvar will have to come with us," he warned her.  
  
"So I assumed," said Corinne dryly.  
  
"Then I will see you there tonight," said Thongvor, "but before you go--"  
  
"Yes?" she said.  
  
"You should at least allow me to make you Thane of the Reach," he said. "That way, you can start making your travel arrangements. You mentioned something about riding to Windhelm?"  
  
"Yes, there's an entrance into Blackreach in Eastmarch," she confirmed, "and there are some other outstanding problems in the area that I need to solve."  
  
"It's good to know that your problem-solving treatment isn't exclusive to my domain," said Thongvor.  
  
Corinne shrugged. "It's what I do."  
  
***  
  
She popped into Moth's smithy before heading back down into the city.  
  
"Still around?" he asked gruffly.  
  
"I still have some business to finish up, before I head back east," said Corinne. "Any chance of that legendary dragonscale cuirass being ready sometime in the next two or three days?"  
  
He snorted.  
  
"That's what I thought," she said. "In that case, I'd better make a list of all the equipment I'm going to need. Also, I might be equipping a housecarl, too."  
  
He snorted again, but this one sounded just a bit more like a laugh. "You finally let Thongvor make you thane, huh? Heh, I hope he doesn't regret it, once you've met your new housecarl."  
  
"You mean Argis?" asked Corinne. "Wait, why would he regret it?"  
  
"Don't tell him I said so," said Moth, lowering his voice, "but I've known Thongvor since we were both pups, and he's always had a jealous streak."  
  
Corinne weighed this in light of the information she already had. "Thanks for telling me," she said finally. "I'll bear it in mind."  
  
"Anyway, bring him around tomorrow, and I'll see what I have in his size for armor," said Moth.  
  
"First thing in the morning," she promised.  
  
"He a shield-user, do you think?" he asked.  
  
"I honestly don't know," said Corinne. "Well, you can ask him yourself, tomorrow. I should bring you back some dwarven metal from Blackreach, as a thank you."  
  
"I do still expect to get paid for the armor," said Moth warningly.  
  
She laughed. "Of course. I meant as a thank you _on top_ of the regular payment."  
  
"Don't bother with the Dwemer metal," he said, waving a hand dismissively. "Orcish armor is stronger and lighter, and not as shiny. Now, if you come across more dragon scales, I wouldn't mind seeing those."  
  
"I don't exactly schedule my dragon engagements," said Corinne, "but I'll try to bring something back. Anything else?"  
  
"I always need corundum and quicksilver," he said.  
  
"I'll keep an eye out," she promised.  
  
"And don't die," he said, holding up a warning finger and glowering at her.  
  
Corinne laughed again. "I'll try to hold out a little longer."  
  
***  
  
Walking into the inn was even more uncomfortable now that he was Jarl than it had been immediately after Thonar bought it and changed its name. He'd visited it almost every night as a youth, back when it was still called _The Juniper Bough_ and old Eawne worked the bar. Overnight, everyone started looking at him with suspicion. Corinne, he was forced to concede, was right: he had a serious reputation problem, and holing up in the Keep where the Forsworn couldn't touch him wasn't doing much to alleviate this problem.  
  
Pushing down the creeping discomfort, he stalked up to the bar and caught the barkeep's attention. "Kleppr. Do you have a private room available for paying customers?"  
  
"Of course, my Jarl," said the barkeep in an oozing, unctuous tone.  
  
"Set it up for dinner for two," ordered Thongvor. "I have a business appointment."  
  
"Ah," said Kleppr knowingly. "At once, my Jarl."  
  
"Yngvar!"  
  
The housecarl appeared at his elbow immediately. "Boss?"  
  
"You brought money to pay the barkeep, as I instructed?" asked Thongvor.  
  
"Sure thing, Boss," said Yngvar, producing a heavy pouch from Mara knew where.  
  
Kleppr and Frabbi exchanged a series of well-rehearsed shouted arguments, the upshot of which was that Frabbi led Thongvor to the room he had just rented for the evening. She smiled at him as though she were out of practice with the expression, and shot a glare at her husband over her shoulder. Then she led him down the same corridor that Corinne had drawn him into, the other night, the memory of which put him in a not very businesslike frame of mind. Yngvar, once he had dispensed with the payment, followed behind and glowered at the patrons.  
  
"Stay outside this door," Thongvor instructed him. "Be alert, don't drink too much mead, and try not to terrify the patrons. We don't rely on the inn for income, but we also don't want business to suffer. Understand?"  
  
"No problem, Boss," said the bard. "When the girl shows up, I should send her in?"  
  
"Yes," said Thongvor and, turning to Frabbi, added, "My guest will be joining us shortly."  
  
"Certainly, my Jarl," said the innkeeper, trying -- and failing -- to sound smooth and urbane. "Should I send in a bottle of Gold Coast wine?"  
  
"Mead will do for me, Frabbi," he replied. "If my guest wants something, we'll send for you."  
  
"Of course," she said. "I'll be at your disposal all evening."  
  
After that, there was nothing more to do but sit and wait. The room he had appropriated was one of the inn's bedrooms for rent and, like most buildings in Markarth, much of the furnishing was carved right into the city's stone, including the bed. He tried not to think about how uncomfortable a stone bed would be to sleep on, after coming in from the mud and cold. Back in his Legion days, he'd often slept on worse than rock, and it was at least dry and under cover. He tried not to think about anything else that could be done -- uncomfortably or not -- on a stone bed.  
  
Fortunately, Corinne was too prompt and conscientious to leave him alone with his thoughts for too long.  
  
"Did I keep you waiting?" she asked when she dropped into the chair across from his.  
  
"Not at all," he replied. "I came in a little early, to make certain that everything was in order."  
  
She smiled. "How thoughtful."  
  
He thought it best to wait until their food and drinks had been served before he broached the subject at hand. Corinne was content to chat idly about her day's encounters with various shopkeeps and artisans, but he found himself much more inclined to attend to her chatter than he might otherwise have been. He never would have learned from Betrid or Reburrus that the proprietor of Arnleif and Sons had vanished under indeterminate circumstances, and to judge from Corinne's caginess, she knew more on the subject than she was letting on.  
  
When he judged the time right, Thongvor cleared his throat and said, "You mentioned something earlier about the reason why you joined the Stormcloaks. I have to admit, I had wondered what would drive a Redguard from High Rock to fight for Skyrim's independence."  
  
"Oh, I'm not the only Redguard among the Stormcloaks," said Corinne. "I know of two others, although I haven't met them personally, and a handful of Imperials. Like Yuna, you know. I'm fairly certain she's an Imperial, on her mother's side."  
  
"I didn't know that," he admitted.  
  
"We got to talking a bit, the other night," said Corinne with a shrug.  
  
"That still doesn't tell me why you, in particular, joined the Stormcloaks," he pointed out.  
  
"No, it doesn't," she agreed. "It's a long story, and it involves a much less heroic version of the tale of how I found myself in Skyrim, a little less than a year ago. One that doesn't make me look nearly as good, and doesn't have anything like a pithy ending."  
  
"I'd like to hear it, if you're willing to tell it," he said.  
  
"Yes," said Corinne. "You should know what you're getting yourself into. First, though, let me ask you the same question you asked me. What made you throw your lot in with Ulfric Stormcloak?"  
  
"You've heard of the Markarth Incident, surely," he replied.  
  
She waved a hand. "Of course I've heard of it. I want to hear your version of events."  
  
"There's only one version of events," he said, trying not to scowl.  
  
"Tell me," she asked again, and he couldn't say no.  
  
"It started when the Dominion attacked Cyrodiil," he said. "Thonar and I went south to fight. He was too young, really, but in those days he did everything I did, and our parents put up with it, so they let him follow me into war. We fought to a standstill and we held the line as long as we could, and the next thing we heard was, the Emperor had signed a treaty with the elves, and we were going home."  
  
"The White-Gold Concordat," said Corinne.  
  
"Yes," he said. "That was before we knew what was _in_ the Concordat. The officers only told us that the war was over, not what it had cost. Then, when we got back to the Reach, we learned the full depth of their betrayal. Not only had they sacrificed our gods and our way of life, and erased the very history of the Empire, but they'd abandoned our homeland to Madanach and his damned savages."  
  
"And that's when Ulfric showed up," said Corinne.  
  
He shook his head. "It was the Jarl and the Imperials who first established the militia. Hrolfdir's militia, all trueborn sons and daughters of Skyrim, come together to liberate the Reach from Madanach's tyranny. We fought side-by-side then, Igmund and I. Aye, and Ulfric, too."  
  
"Fought and won," said Corinne.  
  
"We won," said Thongvor, not bothering to keep the bitterness from his voice, "for all the good it did us. Won one war, only to lose the other. When the Thalmor learned that there were Talos-worshippers among the militia's ranks, they demanded the Empire arrest them all for heretical practices, especially Ulfric. Hrolfdir had already been killed, by this time, so it was all up to Igmund."  
  
"Igmund made the decision to turn Ulfric in?" she asked. "Personally?"  
  
"I don't know what passed between the two of them," said Thongvor, "but Igmund decided he would rather have his throne than his honor. He arrested Ulfric, and the militia had to break him out before the Legion could hand him over to the elves. From that point on, it was obvious that it was a Nord militia, not an Imperial one, and we owed allegiance to no one but Ulfric Stormcloak, the last honorable man in Skyrim."  
  
"And that's when you started calling yourselves the Stormcloaks?" she asked, leaning her cheek on her palm.  
  
He shook his head. "That was years later, and it was meant to be an insult. Igmund's idea, probably. The man has no loyalty. I ask you, is there any insult in knowing you serve a man of honor?" He shook his head again. "Sometimes I wonder how it all could go wrong so quickly."  
  
"So that's the story of the Stormcloaks, from the man who was there when it all started," said Corinne thoughtfully. "I had a feeling it would be worth listening to."  
  
"What about you?" he asked. "A story for a story. That's a fair bargain, isn't it?"  
  
"Ah, yes," said Corinne, her brow furrowing. "I suppose now I owe you the truth. The true story of Maeveth Sweeney, and how I almost lost my head at Helgen and became Dragonborn."


	12. The Tale of Maeveth Sweeney

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Corinne lays out her life story for Thongvor, unvarnished.

"You'll recall, I think," said Corinne, lacing her fingers together on the table in front of her, "that the original impetus for the Great War was the Dominion's invasion -- and attempted annexation -- of southern Hammerfell."

"I remember," said Thongvor.

"One of the southern ports they had their eye on was Taneth, the city where my mother's family has lived for generations," she went on. "After King Ravada seceded and turned his back on the Medes, the Dominion besieged Taneth for months on end. When they breached the walls, they put the city to the torch. My father, Oram af-Umasa, was caught in the fires, and my mother was forced to take my sister, then five years old, and flee overland to Gilane."

"Your mother and your sister," said Thongvor, "so you were born after the city fell, in Gilane?"

Corinne shook her head, smiling sadly. "When my mother discovered she was pregnant, she booked passage on the first ship out of Gilane, and that's how she ended up in Daggerfall. Where she raised Danilia and me, and where she met Asta."

"How did you end up in Evermore?" he asked, and if he was tempted to ask what any of this had to do with a Reachwoman fugitive or being a Stormcloak, he kept it to himself.

"I left," said Corinne, "not long after I turned eighteen. Mother was preoccupied with taking care of Danilia. Asta says the smoke from Taneth's fires never really left her lungs. So she couldn't work long enough hours to provide for all of us, and I wandered through all of High Rock, taking low-level bounties where I could find them. Evermore had a serious problem with Forsworn bandits, even then, so they needed bounty hunters."

"Even then?" said Thongvor. "What do you mean?"

Corinne sighed. "In the last few months before I left on my last bounty, there were whispers in Evermore that the Forsworn were planning something. Something big."

He pinched the bridge of his nose. "By Ysmir, that's the last thing we need."

"Merely rumors," she said. "No one could prove anything, except that they had heard something from a friend of a friend of a neighbor... You know how it goes. Anyway, most of them were nothing more than common bandits, ambushing merchant caravans, and generally making a nuisance of themselves. I killed a few of them, but mostly, they knew when they were defeated. And I was starting to make a name for myself, so when jobs ran low, I would cross the border to Dragonstar, and look for bounties there. It was high summer last year when I saw the wanted poster for Maeveth the Bastard."

"I can guess how she got the name," said Thongvor.

"Oh, yes," said Corinne, with a grim smile. "She more than earned the sobriquet. A witchblade from one of the Reach tribes in Craglorn, but she maintained no allegiance to her tribe. From banditry to grave-robbing to kidnapping hostages, no crime was beneath her, and the Dragonstar city guard had lost at least a dozen guards trying to capture her alive. So they wanted me to bring in her head. Not my first dead-or-alive bounty, but I knew she would be a tough nut to crack."

"Did you end up catching her?" he asked.

She shook her head. "Tracked her across a mountain pass into the southern Reach, caught up with her near an orc stronghold called Dushnikh Yal."

He nodded. "I know the place."

"I wish I could say that it was a story-worthy defeat," said Corinne with a sigh, "but the truth is, she jumped me while I was making camp. She was damned strong, too. Could've finished me off easily."

"How did you defeat her?" asked Thongvor, leaning forward in interest.

She snorted. "I didn't. She hog-tied me and left me there, didn't even bother to kill me. That's how little of a threat she thought I was. Luckily for me, a pair of hunters from the stronghold came upon me before any bears or sabrecats could beat them to it. They could've left me for dead, but they decided to untie me and lend me a bow and quiver, and some potions, so I set out after Maeveth again."

"You know, the stronghold orcs normally aren't very helpful to travelers in distress," said Thongvor thoughtfully.

"Oh, I'm aware," said Corinne. "I had to do a fair amount of sweet-talking to get them to come around."

"Do you usually manage to talk any man you meet into doing your bidding?" he asked dryly.

"Usually, yes," she answered with a smile.

"How did you catch up to Maeveth?" he asked.

"I knew I would never catch up to her on foot," said Corinne. "She had far too much of a head-start. When I came upon an encampment of the Imperial Legion, well... I waited until dark fell, and then I stole one of their horses."

Thongvor started to laugh, then stopped himself and cleared his throat. "Horse-theft is a very serious crime, Corinne."

"And not one that I would normally entertain, I assure you," she replied. "I'm not in the habit of stealing a merchant's cart-horse and leaving her stranded on the side of the road, prey to bandits or wild animals. But this was a military encampment, and they had horses to spare, and weapons to protect themselves. If an Imperial captain had to walk with her soldiers instead of riding ahead, just until they made it to the nearest fort... Well, it seemed to me, in the moment, that my need was greater. But I was still riding a stolen horse, so I kept off the main roads and wound my way along the back paths of the Jerall Mountains, south of Falkreath."

"Now we get to it," said Thongvor.

"Not quite," said Corinne, shaking her head. "I had tracked her to the Neugrad pass, but I hadn't counted on the mountain weather working against me. Snow on the mountain peaks is one thing, but a full-blown blizzard? At the height of summer?" She shook her head again.

"Outsiders take some time to get used to Skyrim's weather," he remarked. "You're lucky you didn't get stranded in Winterhold. It's a wasteland, unnavigable even by Nord standards."

"Don't remind me," she said with a grimace.

"So you lost your quarry in the blizzard," said Thonvor, "and what happened next?"

"That's when I met Thorygg Sun-Killer," said Corinne. "A few of his Stormcloaks stumbled upon me while they were patrolling through the blizzard, alert to Imperial ambushes. They brought me back to their secret camp and made me swear not to reveal its location." She laughed. "I told them I wouldn't be able to retrace my steps if I wanted to, and I was too grateful to them for saving my life, besides. That was the first time the Stormcloaks saved my life."

"What happened to Maeveth Sweeney?" asked Thongvor.

"I learned later that she'd been captured by the Imperials on her way down the mountain into the Rift," said Corinne with a shrug. "They dumped her in Fort Neugrad's dungeon to rot, while they tried to decide whether or not they were under obligation to extradite her to Hammerfell. She was still rotting there when Galmar Stone-Fist sent me to infiltrate the fort and release some prisoners."

"I don't suppose you released her?"

Corinne smiled her coldest smile and said, "I put a dagger in her heart before she even knew I was there. I doubt I'll be collecting that bounty any time soon, though."

"How did you end up in Helgen, though?" he asked.

She shrugged. "I fell asleep in a tent in the camp, and when I came to, I was on a cart headed to Helgen, with a bunch of other prisoners." She laughed mirthlessly. "The first thing I saw when my head cleared was Ulfric Stormcloak, bound and gagged."

Thongvor's hands on the table tightened into fists. "The disrespect of it," he muttered.

"Well, they weren't about to let him Shout his way free, were they?" she said sensibly. "The funny thing is, at the time, I had no idea who he was. I had no idea what was waiting for me in Helgen."

"The executioner?" said Thongvor. "What, exactly were they executing you for, anyway?"

"The officer I stole that horse from," she replied. "It turns out that when it bolted during the blizzard, it found its way back to the nearest Imperial stables, in Fort Neugrad. When I was brought before the captain of the guard, she must have recognized me, because she sent me to the axe with the other Stormcloaks and a bunch of common thieves. I had my head on the block and was halfway ready to make my way to the Far Shores and finally meet my father when I heard the most unearthly sound, speaking unearthly words in a language I didn't want to understand." She stopped and sighed. "That was Alduin, of course."

"Did you know you were Dragonborn then?" asked Thongvor.

She shook her head. "It was about a week later, during the dragon attack on Whiterun. And before I understood what was happening to me, or could get used to the idea, the Greybeards were calling my name from the tallest mountaintop in the world."

Thongvor nodded. "I remember hearing their call. Everyone remembers where they were, that day."

"Anyway," said Corinne, mustering a faint smile, "Stormcloaks saved my life when I was about to freeze to death, and again in Helgen when the dragon came. If that wasn't reason enough to be sympathetic to the cause..."

"It was the Empire's fault that Taneth fell," said Thongvor.

"There was fault enough in Taneth for everyone to share in, from what I heard," she replied. "But the way I see it, the Empire is too weak to stand against the Dominion, and Hammerfell can't stand against them alone. If Taneth is ever going to recover enough that I can bring my mother back to the city she was born in, we're going to need something better than that."

"An alliance between Hammerfell and Skyrim?" asked Thongvor. "That's your grand plan?"

"Why not?" said Corinne with a shrug. "Ulfric won't ally with Morrowind or Black Marsh, even I can see that, but he can have no objections to treating with an independent human kingdom like Hammerfell."

He rubbed his chin. "You might have a point, there."

"It's too soon to make grand plans," said Corinne, taking a sip of her wine. "I have to put the dragon crisis ahead of everything else, for the moment, and even once the war is won, Ulfric won't yet be High King."

"That's for the Jarls' moot to decide," said Thongvor, "but any honorable Nord can see that the throne rightfully belongs to Ulfric, according to all of our traditions."

"That's why he put you in charge, here in Markarth," said Corinne, "and Dengeir in Falkreath, and the Grey-Manes in Whiterun. It remains to be seen who he'll entrust Hjaalmarch to."

"Is that why you want me to marry you?" asked Thongvor. "I think you'll have Ulfric's ear, regardless, after all that you've already done for Skyrim."

"And yet," said Corinne, smiling, "as you yourself pointed out, I won't always be able to serve Skyrim by slaying dragons. When that day comes, I'd like to be prepared. I want to know the work that needs doing, and how it can be done. It may not be the Nord way, but if I can avoid dying with a sword in my hand, then so much the better."

"And the kiss?" he asked.

"Well," said Corinne, her dark eyes gleaming with mischief, "just because I have to save the world, doesn't mean I can't have some fun along the way." 


	13. The Plan

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Corinne and Thongvor formulate a plan. [This is the first chapter to contain sexually explicit material.]

"So," said Corinne," regarding him over her clasped hands with a sphinx smile, "now that you know my true origin, the unflattering version, would you still count yourself lucky to be married to me?"  
  
"Did you tell me this story to try and talk me out of it?" asked Thongvor. "Marriage was _your_ idea."  
  
"And I stand by it," she said, "but I wanted to be certain that you know what you're getting into, before you make any irreversible decisions."  
  
"Your plan to return to Hammerfell, you mean?" he said.  
  
She gnawed on her lower lip. "I haven't definitely decided to return to Hammerfell. Well, not return, not really. I've never lived in Hammerfell, and I've never _been_ to Taneth. I just want my mother to be able to return, but she's always said that she wouldn't feel safe in Taneth until the Dominion's threat was removed."  
  
He couldn't help but smile. "So all your grand plans are in service of helping your mother return to her homeland?"  
  
"Well, the fall of the Dominion is in the interest of every human in Tamriel," she said reasonably. "In fact, I wouldn't be surprised if it were also in the interest of most high elves. At least, if everything I've heard about the Thalmor is true."  
  
"Oh, the rumors undersell their brutality, if anything," he replied grimly.  
  
"My point is," she said, leaning forward over the table, "I might be Redguard by heritage, but I have no standing in Hammerfell. Bringing in Maeveth's bounty might have changed that -- I'd heard that Prince Yevahn had taken a personal interest in her capture -- but, well, that's not going to happen now, is it? Marrying a Nord Jarl will at least give me equal standing with the city princes, but for you, marrying me means you'll get tangled in any attempt I make, and implicated if it goes poorly."  
  
"Do you expect it to go poorly?" he asked.  
  
"I don't expect it to be effortless," she replied. "Skyrim isn't the only kingdom in Tamriel that's grown territorial and hostile to outlanders. Earning the princes' trust won't be a trivial task." She flashed a radiant smile. "Not even for someone as charming as yours truly."  
  
Thongvor sighed. "Well, it's a noble cause, and if anyone can do it, I believe you have at least a fighting chance. Thonar always said that Skyrim's independence would be worthless if all it meant was that we had to stand alone against the Dominion."  
  
"I might not always agree with the way your brother conducts business," said Corinne, "but he's undoubtedly a savvy man, and that's an astute observation. Everyone knows the next war is coming, and no one knows when."  
  
"If we fight together--" he began to say before she cut him off.  
  
"--we'll be fighting for many years to come." She leaned back in her seat, palms flat on the table before her. "Are you prepared to be at war for the foreseeable future?"  
  
"The way you say it, I can expect to be at war whether I'm ready for it or not," he replied, "and I always prefer to fight with someone watching my back."  
  
Corinne smiled, unexpectedly bright, and said, "That I will be glad to do."  
  
He had a feeling she intended some kind of prurient double meaning, as she often did, but he couldn't find it in himself to mind.  
  
"If we're agreed on the general lines of the plan," he said instead, "perhaps it's time to work out some of the finer details. Like the when and where."  
  
"A detour to Riften seems ill-advised, at this juncture," said Corinne, "but Senna said that the Temple of Dibella can also hold weddings. As for the when..." She trailed off.  
  
"You have more urgent considerations," he said. "I understand."  
  
"On the other hand," she went on, "I don't want to put it off too long, either. I _do_ need to make it to Blackreach, and sooner rather than later, but after that, I have no idea what comes next. That makes long-term planning rather difficult."  
  
"Take Argis and go to Windhelm," said Thongvor. "Don't worry about anything other than getting to Blackreach and back out again alive. I'll take care of everything else. Send word when you know when you'll be back in Markarth again, and I'll have all the arrangements prepared."  
  
Corinne smiled. "Sounds like a plan to me."  
  
"What happens now?" he asked.  
  
"Well, I won't be able to start putting supplies together before tomorrow, anyway," she said thoughtfully, leaning forward in her seat, "but it's too early to go to sleep. I wonder how I can fill the hours between now and bedtime. Do you have any ideas?"  
  
He exhaled. "Corinne--"  
  
"Right," she said, leaning back again and rubbing the back of her neck. "Too forward. I can take a hint."  
  
"Corinne," he said again, trying somehow to imbue the name with all of his intentions.  
  
"I know my name, Thongvor," she said sharply. "Tell me something I don't know."  
  
"What do you need?" he asked.  
  
"I might be going to my death, tomorrow," said Corinne. "Divines! I'm going to my death _most_ days. I just want to put it out of my mind, for a few hours, and I don't think that's a very great deal to ask."  
  
"You want me to distract you?" he asked. "I'll admit, it's not the most appealing invitation that I've had."  
  
Corinne puffed out a sigh. "I'm sorry, I didn't mean to lose my temper. I've just been on edge, lately."  
  
He couldn't help but smile. "Usually I'm the one apologizing for losing my temper, so this is a novel turn, for me."  
  
"Glad to entertain," said Corinne with a huff, and reached for her wine cup to drain it.  
  
"Maybe tomorrow is soon enough for us to speak again," he suggested.  
  
She quirked her lips into a crooked smile. "Are you going to try and tuck me into bed again? You have no excuses tonight. I'm not remotely drunk."  
  
"Not drunk, just habitually this forward," he said.  
  
"Another thing you should be forewarned of if we're going through with this marriage thing," replied Corinne. "I like getting what I want. I'm in the habit of it, in fact."  
  
"I've enjoyed giving you what you want," he pointed out.  
  
Her smile turned sly. "Oh, you like imperious women? I can do something with that, I think."  
  
She abandoned her winecup and her seat, sauntering around the table to climb into his lap. She'd once again left off her armor for the evening, wearing a dress that fell off her shoulders under a laced bodice of soft doeskin. When she reached back to sweep her braided hair over one shoulder, the urge to burrow his face in the soft folds of her throat was almost too strong to resist. With her hair out of the way, she braced on hand on his chest and leaned forward to kiss him, a soft grazing touch of the lips followed by a sharp nip.  
  
Thongvor groaned. "Is that how you want to play it?"  
  
"I'm versatile," she hummed softly, her breath hot against his cheek. "If you had something more gentle in mind..."  
  
"No," said Thongvor, wrapping his arms around her middle. "This suits me just fine."  
  
"Mmm, excellent," said Corinne, pressing her mouth against his again, hard and demanding.  
  
She had no interest in moving slowly and she kissed like a woman starved. He was half-afraid to ask how long it had been for her, whether it was less time or more than it had been for him. If it had been less, he would have to confront the fact that he was a fool for trying to satisfy a woman at least thirty years younger than him. How short a time would be considered _too long_ in her reckoning? Six months? Two months? Two _weeks_? Then, also, he would have to think about who she had been with before, and though he had no claim to jealousy over her past, that would not stop his treacherous heart from beating too fast and boiling his blood with resentment. Most of all, he feared that the answer would be _never_ , and he would feel like a villain, although he didn't count that very likely. Whatever the answer might be, Corinne af-Umasa kissed like a woman who hadn't been touched in too long, and Thongvor kissed her back and tried not to think about how it had been more than a year, for him, but he'd hardly even thought about it before she came into town.  
  
She pulled away, out of breath, and ran her hands up his chest and over his shoulders with a kind of casual possessiveness. In response, he brought his free hand up to cup her face and turn it to one side so he could kiss her neck. Corinne dissolved into moaning, her pulse pounding under her skin. Soft and pliant, she dropped her head to rest on his shoulder, breathing hard. He palmed her breasts through her bodice, but the soft material wouldn't yield beneath his hands.  
  
"Unlace me," she breathed against his neck.  
  
Thongvor pulled open the knot holding the leather laces shut and hooked his finger between the crisscrossed strings, to tug them loose. As he worked the laces free ever so slowly, Corinne's fingers tightened on his shoulders, her breath stuttering into a panting half-laugh.  
  
"Are you taking your time deliberately, to drive me mad?" she asked.  
  
"That depends," he replied, threading his fingers between the laces the pull them apart. "Is it working?"  
  
"It is," she said, "and I think I like it."  
  
"Arms up, please," said Thongvor.  
  
She held up her arms and allowed him to pull off the bodice. Without the bodice to hold it up, her dress slid slowly down her narrow, rounded shoulders. He helped it along a little, pushing the fabric down until he could cover her breasts completely with his hands. Corinne sighed and leaned into the touch, her eyes drifting shut and her lower lip caught between her teeth. He pulled her close so he could kiss her neck again and feel her pulse racing, all the while kneading her soft, small breast in his other hand. She moaned more extravagantly, and rolled her hips, grinding against him.  
  
He groaned and said, "Have some patience. I promise it will be worth your while."  
  
She laughed breathlessly. "I am the model of patience. I just wanted to be sure that I'm not giving up _all_ the control, here, but I'm not getting much of a response."  
  
"That's where the patience comes in," said Thongvor.  
  
"Oh, I know how it works," she said, swatting his shoulder playfully. "You only have to say so, if you need a hand. Or something else."  
  
He hadn't considered that, for their first time together, though he wasn't sure why. "Really?"  
  
"No begging or bartering required," said Corinne. "Only an equivalent exchange, if you're so inclined."  
  
"What about you?" he asked.  
  
She put her hands to either side of his face and, looking him in the eye, replied, "Thongvor, I promise you I know how to take my own pleasure, when I'm ready, and I never leave unsatisfied."  
  
"And I've never left a woman unsatisfied in my life," said Thongvor.  
  
Corinne smiled, kissed the tip of his nose, and said, "If you pull my hair, I'll bite you."  
  
Before he could think of an answer, he felt her warm weight slide off his lap and she settled on the floor before him, her hands on his knees.  
  
"Last chance to say no," she said, looking up at him through her lashes.  
  
"Gods, please, yes."  
  
"Mmm, that's what I like to hear," she said, already reaching for the laces on his breeches.  
  
If it had been too long since he'd had a woman, and he knew that it had, it felt like an impossible time since anyone had touched him with such unreserved enthusiasm. He couldn't remember when, and he had a feeling he wouldn't have liked the memory if he could find it. Corinne matter-of-factly slicked her hand with something from an unmarked potion bottle, and the moment she had her hand around his cock he forgot all about what he didn't remember. When she took the head into her mouth he groaned, letting his head fall back against the back of the chair. He felt the heat of her mouth and every movement of her tongue, and the blood rushing out of his head faster than he thought possible, but contrary to her earlier words, Corinne had no plans to stop as soon he got hard. He lost track of what, exactly, she was doing with her hands and her mouth and sank into a dark haze of unthinking lust.  
  
He was very nearly lost to the haze when he felt her pull off, with a wet, vulgar sound. When he opened his eyes he found her gazing up at him, looking entirely too satisfied with herself.  
  
"If you're close to coming, you have to tell me," she informed him archly.  
  
"Dibella's blood, you're a fiend," he said.  
  
Corinne laughed and flicked his hand off her shoulder so she could stand up. She hiked up her skirts, revealing long, muscled thighs and tapering calves. But he had little enough chance to appreciate them, because she wasted no time in straddling his lap. He gripped her thighs in both hands, bracing as she slowly, agonizingly took him in. Her fingernails dug into his chest and shoulder, where she held onto him. She was biting her lip again, and the sight of it was almost unbearably arousing. Then she stopped, her thighs trembling under his grip, and wound her arms around his neck.  
  
She sighed softly. "Oh, that feels good."  
  
"You get this wet just from sucking me?" he asked.  
  
Corinne laughed and rolled her hips. "Don't get used to it. I won't always be this good to you."  
  
"If you were, it might kill me," he groaned.  
  
She pressed her mouth to his to swallow his moans and rode him relentlessly, once again every bit as demanding as she had started out. Thongvor ran his hands over every bit of her skin that he could reach and fought the opposite problem than the one he thought he would have. He held on by the fraying threads of his self-control until he felt her muscles tighten like a vise and she cried out some indistinct words, muffled into his shirt. What fool words he might have uttered when he came inside her, he had no idea, only that she burned hot as a fire around him and he could hardly bear it.  
  
Corinne leaned against him, impossibly soft and relaxed, her legs trembling. He held her loosely around the middle while she tried and failed to get her legs under her. She laughed breathlessly.  
  
"Gods above and below," she said, "I can't describe to you how badly I needed that."  
  
"I think you demonstrated your need adequately," said Thongvor, his voice low and rough.  
  
"Give me a moment, and I'll release you," said Corinne. "I'm-- a little wobbly." She laughed again.  
  
By way of a reply, Thongvor tightened his arms around her and pulled her in for a slow kiss. "Patience is a virtue."  
  
"Not one I would have associated with you, before tonight," she admitted and, straightening and twisting to glance back at the shut door, asked, "Do you think Yngvar heard all that?"


	14. On the Road Again

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Corinne and Argis set off for Windhelm.

Three days later, Corinne and Argis set out at the crack of dawn, out of the city gates towards the Markarth stables. Since Banning's mysterious disappearance, Cedran had been left to tend the horses alone, and he had handled the purchase of two fine piebald geldings by the new Jarl. Corinne had considered taking the carriage to Windhelm and procuring mounts there, but had decided that she might as well make some pit stops on the way and take care of some small bits of unfinished business. She had rejected out of hand using her usual mount, who had of late been keeping safe on the outskirts of Dawnstar. Now that she had a housecarl again, she needed him to be able to keep pace with her.  
  
Aside from the horses, and the expense of supplies, potions, scrolls and so on, Ghorza had obliged to outfit Argis head to toe in a brand new suit of orcish armor. Corinne had delved into her small mountain of salvage and produced for him weapons to match the armor's quality, which he watched with morbid fascination while she lectured him on the finer points of dragon-slaying technique.  
  
"So you can expect things to get interesting," she concluded her prepared speech.  
  
He looked at her, overawed, and asked, "Is it always like this, for you?"  
  
"Lately, yes," she admitted. "Don't get me wrong, I certainly have peaceful days here and there, but it seems like there's always one more thing that needs to be done. I don't believe I'll get any rest until this Dragonborn matter is resolved."  
  
"Until the World-Eater is dead?" asked Argis.  
  
"Or I am," she agreed cheerfully, "but I prefer to think of the former possibility, you know. No point dwelling on the negative."  
  
"Supposing you defeat Alduin," he said, looking away from her to check his mount's harness. "What would you do then?"  
  
She and Thongvor had agreed to keep their intention to marry private while she was away from Markarth, and she supposed if Argis did not already know, there was no cause to enlighten him. She shrugged artfully, fastening her loaded saddlebags in place, and considered her answer.  
  
"I had a life back in Evermore, you know," she said. "Then again, I've grown rather used to Skyrim. I suppose I could take up bounty hunting right here. Certainly there's no shortage of problems to be solved."  
  
Argis laughed. "Sadly true," he said. "You know, there's a house in Markarth that's been standing empty. You could probably convince the Jarl to let you buy it, if you have the money. He seems inordinately fond of you."  
  
"I'm very likable," said Corinne, flashing a smile. Then her face dimmed and she asked, "You don't mean the house on the south side, where that Vigilant was prawling, asking weird questions?"  
  
He shuddered. "No, not that one. That house gives me the creeps. I meant Vlindrel Hall. It's high up the stairs on the northeastern side of the wall, near the watchtower. It's been standing empty since the last owner died and his grandchildren never came to claim their inheritance."  
  
"They won't be back to kick out the new owners?" asked Corinne.  
  
"By Nord law, any inherited land that isn't claimed within five years reverts to hold property," he replied. "even if they wanted it back now, they'd have no legal standing."  
  
"Huh," said Corinne.  
  
"Does that mean you'll think of staying in Markarth?" asked Argis, grinning.  
  
"Staying in Markarth is definitely something that crossed my mind," she replied. "right now, though, we'd better start making our way to Karthspire. Who knows how many Forsworn we'll run into on the way?"  
  
"It's a wonder they don't run out of people," said Argis, "the rate sellswords are bringing in their heads."  
  
Now it was her turn to shudder. "I always hated bringing in heads. It's so needlessly grisly."  
  
"I bet you would have made an exception for Maeveth, though," he said.  
  
"I might just have done," she replied. "Especially since she stole my favorite sword."  
  
***  
  
Their first night on the road, they stayed in Sky Haven Temple. Corinne introduced Argis to Delphine and watched with interest as the two warriors openly assessed each other, culminating in Delphine's not-so-veiled invitation for a sparring match. She followed them outside to the overlook point, where Esbern was poring over the Dragonstone map of burial mounds. While Delphine and Argis stretched their muscles, Corinne lit a lamp and joined the aging loremaster in his improvised study.  
  
"I was hoping to get a look at that map," she mentioned off-handedly. "I want to look for any burial mounds along our route, to see what sort of trouble we might run into."  
  
"It's difficult to predict which of his servants Alduin might choose to wake next," replied Esbern, tracing his finger along an imaginary route and not looking up at her.  
  
"All the same," insisted Corinne, "I'd like to note down sites of potential trouble between here and Windhelm."  
  
At that, Esbern finally looked up. "Between here and Windhelm? That's nearly all of Skyrim, Dragonborn. And I thought you were headed to Blackreach."  
  
"The entrance I discovered is in Eastmarch," she said. "It will be convenient for me to mount the expedition out of Windhelm. Besides, I have other business in the area. Can I see the map?"  
  
"By all means," he replied, gesturing expansively at the parchment, which was pinned to the table with several small weights.  
  
Corinne weighted down her own map beside it and compared several of the points noted on Delphine's map. Not all of the landmarks she was familiar with were noted, and her own map was getting cluttered with all the notations on it, but she made do. She saw several sites that she knew she had cleared already, like Kriipaalzin's mound deep in the Druadach Mountains, and Nahagliv's near the border with Whiterun hold. She was also relieved to note no markers near Riverwood, the little town that had been so friendly to her when she first came to Skyrim. The people there had seen trouble enough and deserved to be as safe from dragons as anyone in Skyrim was these days. If she skirted Whiterun city and pressed on towards Fort Amol, she wouldn't run into too much trouble.  
  
"I see a marker here, west of Windhelm," she said, tapping the mark. "South of Mount Anthor, of all places. It's not on our route _into_ the city, but we might be able to circle past there on our way back out, to Raldbthar."  
  
"What's this?" said Argis, winded and sweaty, looking over her shoulder.  
  
She traced the route on her map and, reaching for a piece of charcoal, made a light mark where the dragon mound ought to be. "Good news, Argis. You might get to slay a dragon, yet."  
  
"Excellent," he said cheerfully. "Can't let Vorstag hog all the glory, you know."  
  
"Oh, have the two of you started competing, already?" she asked, amused. "I didn't have him pegged as the competitive type, but even I can be wrong."  
  
"I may have pushed him a little," admitted Argis with an unabashed grin.  
  
"Well, with any luck, we won't be fighting any draugr," she said, "but you should be able to show him up by heroically defending me from one of those awful Dwemer centurions."  
  
"I live to serve, my Thane," he replied with mock solemnity.  
  
"You have time to look around the temple if you want, but try to get some rest," she advised. "We have another early morning tomorrow."  
  
"What about you?" he asked, frowning.  
  
"I still have a few more preparations to get done before I go to bed," she replied. "Besides, I know the temple pretty well by now, and I'm not likely to get lost."  
  
He nodded gamely and loped towards the doors back into the temple, while Corinne waved at him playfully.  
  
"I'm glad to see that you have someone sensible watching your back, Dragonborn," said Delphine, who seemed much less winded from their sparring match than Argis had been.  
  
"What, you didn't like Vorstag?" asked Corinne teasingly.  
  
But Delphine was not the type of woman who responded to teasing. "Skyrim is a dangerous place, even for someone of your unique talents. I would hate to see you cut down in your youth for the sheer arrogance of overestimating your skills."  
  
Corinne sobered instantly, and all the banter withered in her mouth. "I wouldn't have considered going down into Blackreach alone. That's the main reason why I haven't brought back the Elder Scroll, yet."  
  
"Assuming it even is where your contact said it is," remarked Delphine.  
  
Corinne made a face. "The alternative doesn't bear thinking on. If Septimus was lying or misinformed, or just addled by his bizarre research, I've no idea where to start searching next."  
  
"Like it or not, you might _have_ to think about it, soon enough," said Delphine grimly. "Best not to put it off too long. You can't afford to be caught unawares."  
  
"Would I have to go all the way to the Imperial City to find someone who knows where a Scroll can be found?" she asked with a groan. "What a bother that would be."  
  
"More than a bother, I should think," said Esbern pragmatically.  
  
"He's right, Dragonborn," said Delphine. "I doubt you're very popular in Cyrodiil right now. The Legion already tried to behead you once when they thought you might be a Stormcloak sympathizer, and that was before you sacked Whiterun."  
  
"We didn't _sack_ \--" she started to say heatedly, but stopped herself just in time, drawing a hand over her forehead. "Never mind. Let's just agree that if I can't find the bloody Scroll in bloody Blackreach, we'll all be in very big trouble."  
  
"Quite probably," said Esbern, all too placidly.  
  
Corinne sighed deeply and muttered, "How is this my life?"  
  
***  
  
On the second night, it was just the two of them at Old Hroldan Inn. The ride there had been long but uneventful, and under different circumstances, Corinne might have pushed another hour or two and camped out of doors, especially given the mild weather. As they were soon to spend an unknown amount of time in a Dwemer cavern deep underground, though, she was eager to make the most of her time in relative civilization. The Nord innkeeper was happy to supply them with roast venison and mead, despite their persistent refusal to listen to the story of Tiber Septim's historical battle.  
  
When it was just the two of them, sitting down to eat at the table in the room they rented, Corinne made her move.  
  
"So, tell me about Yuna," she said casually.  
  
Argis choked on the mead he was sipping. "Wh-what?"  
  
"Well, you were both staying at Understone Keep, weren't you?" she said. "You must have gotten to know her a little. I didn't get to chat with her much, but I got the impression that she had an interesting story, and I was wondering if she'd shared it with you."  
  
"Because she's technically a Cyrod, you mean?" he asked.  
  
"Thorygg said she was the truest Nord he knew, or something along those lines," said Corinne with a shrug. "I'm not passing judgment, I just want to know what her story is, and I thought it might be rude to ask."  
  
"She doesn't mind talking about it," said Argis, "and hardly anyone's given her any trouble over it. Her father was a Nord skald visiting Bruma, where he met her mother, who was working at one of the taverns there. I guess they fell in love, or something, because he decided to stay there with her and raise a family."  
  
"But he never stopped missing his homeland," Corinne guessed, "and he told all his children stories of the glory and wonder of Skyrim, until finally one of them couldn't stand it and had to come and see the place where her father came from."  
  
Argis shrugged. "Something like that."  
  
"Nords are so sentimental," she said.  
  
"You don't miss Hammerfell?" he asked curiously.  
  
"I hardly know Hammerfell," said Corinne. "So, about Yuna..."  
  
"I told you, she doesn't mind talking about it," he said. "In fact, I'll bet she'd tell _you_ anything you wanted to know. The girl's in awe of the great Dragonborn." He stopped and laughed.  
  
"But she confided in you," said Corinne wheedlingly, "and you seem to like her."  
  
"Oh, yeah," he said casually, "but she's madly in love with Thorygg, so there's no hope there."  
  
Corinne frowned. "Does Thorygg know that?"  
  
"No idea," said Argis with a shrug, "but I doubt it. I got the impression that he thought of her more as a protege, which is no surprise, really."  
  
"Why's that?" she asked.  
  
"Well, he's fifteen years her senior, isn't he?" said Argis matter-of-factly. "She's being a bit ridiculous about it, really, but she'll grow out of it, soon enough."  
  
Corinne forced a laugh. "To hear you talk of it, anyone would think she's a blushing sixteen-year-old maiden."


	15. The Dragonborn in Windhelm

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Corinne and Argis emerge from Blackreach, and the plan starts to fall apart.

In Windhelm, Corinne learned that money could solve a multitude of problems. Taking a pair of horses down into such a cavern as Blackreach was completely out of the question, of course, but the Dwemer ruin that they were headed to was a rather long walk from Windhelm. Leaving them with the Windhelm stablemaster for the duration was the only viable option. It was Argis who came up with the inspired idea to pay him an additional fee to follow them to their campsite outside the Dwemer lift, and lead all three horses back to Windhelm on his own. On their return journey, they would have to figure out some other solution, but at least they didn't need to walk both ways with all their supplies on their backs.  
  
Everything was going to plan, and even the burial mound that had so worried her appeared abandoned when they rode past it, at least from a distance. The only advantage that dragons had as a foe, in Corinne's opinion, was that they were clearly visible from a great distance. One was rarely caught unawares by a giant flying lizard, especially one that roared to announce itself and occasionally spat forth torrents of flame. But Corinne had lost count of the number of dragons she had killed, and although it would be a first for Argis, he had proven himself equal to every enemy they had met, so far. Of all the companions she'd had in her travels through Skyrim, very few would have met Blackreach's myriad dangers with such complacency.  
  
_Complacent_ is what Delphine would have called her. Worse yet, she'd have been right. Everything _had_ been going well and, improbably, they'd even gotten what they'd come for. The gods must have thought she was due for a humbling, and perhaps she was, but calling on Alduin himself to deliver it was a bit much, in her opinion.  
  
_**SLEN TIID VO!**_  
  
The words echoed over the mountainside with bone-rattling fury.  
  
"Stay down!" she hissed to Argis, dropping into a crouch in the thick undergrowth.  
  
Argis obeyed without complaint, and they huddled together in their woefully flimsy cover, watching the great black dragon hover over the burial mound. A shattering sound like an avalanche rumbled down the mountainside, and Argis shot her a panicked look. Corinne held up one hand, palm up, and pressed a finger to her lips. She waited, and Argis, looking increasingly nervous, waited beside her. At last, the flap of wings heralded his departure, and she dared to peek over the edge of the boulder they were hiding behind. Alduin's great shadow was flying away.  
  
Corinne tipped her head close to Argis's ear and said softly, "Now the real work begins."  
  
She strung her bow and fastened her quiver to her back, and Argis followed suit. Abandoning their heavy satchels in the undergrowth, to be recovered later, they crept up the mountainside to the burial mound that had so recently been undisturbed. With a few quick hand signals, Corinne managed to convey that they were to attack the risen dragon from different angles. For everything else he needed to know, she had to rely on Argis's memory of her accounts of her own past encounters. At least she knew that his bow and arrows were the best that money could buy, and she sealed the bargain by tossing him a bottle of one of her best poisons.  
  
In a short but tense hour, Viinturuth's body hit the ground, dead, his head slamming into the rock of the mountainside with a sickening crack. Corinne unstrung her bow and knelt, bracing both hands against the ground. Argis, sword in hand, was rushing towards her, dodging the last dying flails of the dragon's tail. She paid him no mind. She had to stay focused, grounded, ready for the moment when the blinding light emerged from the creature's withering carcass and slammed into her, like a too-strong drink on an empty stomach. She wondered, as she often had before, whether a true dovah felt this ill when he killed one of his kind and absorbed his soul. A wave of dizziness and nausea hit her like an undertow, and she pressed her aching palms harder against the rocky earth underneath her.  
  
"Corinne?"  
  
Argis's voice sounded faraway and echoing. He was shaking her shoulder.  
  
She coughed and cleared her throat, and managed to say, "I'm fine."  
  
"You're _not_ fine!" he objected heatedly.  
  
"Ugh," said Corinne, and rolled over to lie down curled up on her side.  
  
"What _was_ that?" he demanded to know.  
  
"That great dead skeleton over there?" she asked, laughing hoarsely. "He called himself Viinturuth. If you mean the one that flew away, well... That was Alduin."  
  
His face turned white as a sheet.  
  
Corinne amused herself by comparing whether he was more alarmed by the World-Eater or by watching her absorb a dragon soul. When this failed to amuse her, she switched to not throwing up, which was even less amusing, but nonetheless required all her energy. Gradually, the waves of nausea began to weaken and subside, and after a while, she was able to cautiously sit up. Argis had taken the time to build a campfire in the shadow of Viinturuth's blanched skeleton and was now toasting some stale bread on a stick.  
  
"Is it always like that?" he asked, his eyes firmly glued to the flickering flames in front of him.  
  
"This time was especially bad," she admitted. "It's never... _pleasant_. I'd really rather not kill dragons at all, you know, but they make such a nuisance of themselves."  
  
He didn't laugh.  
  
"We should start heading for Windhelm as soon as possible," she said.  
  
"It's getting dark," Argis pointed out. "We won't make it before nightfall."  
  
Corinne's mouth twisted in distaste. "I'd really rather not camp out-of-doors another night."  
  
"I don't think we have a choice," he replied. "Respectfully."  
  
She sighed, defeated. "You might be right."  
  
***  
  
Windhelm city itself, at least, was normal. When they rode past the mill, Aeri hailed them and thanked her for taking care of the dragon, pressing a gift of ale and pie on her in thanks. The denizens of Windhelm, however, remained blissfully oblivious to the dragon that had arisen just out of eyeshot of their stone walls. Beggars still begged, merchants still plied their wares, and the innkeeper's voice was as tooth-itchingly grating as ever. Corinne took the trouble to rent a pair of adjoining rooms for three nights, and then hefted her satchel and headed for the apothecary's shop.  
  
"Three nights?" asked Argis, walking just behind her right shoulder with his own loaded satchel.  
  
"I still need to take the Scroll up the mountain," she replied, "but I need to rest, first. Recover my strength. We both do."  
  
"As you say, my Thane."  
  
He had adopted the habit of referring to her so formally whenever they were in a settled area, although in private he was mostly content to call her by name. Corinne didn't mind. Not that she felt a need to make certain everyone knew her new rank and title, but it was helpful to establish upfront the nature of their relationship, in advance of any prying questions from nosy strangers. She felt rather uncharacteristically snappish, and was sure that she would bite off the head of the first rude stranger who smirkingly referred to them as _lovebirds_ or _sweethearts_ or anything equally cloying. She suppressed a sigh and let herself into the shop, where she could pawn off those ingredients that she didn't need for her own alchemical experiments. If she spent enough money replenishing her stash, maybe Nurelion wouldn't mind letting her use his lab to mix some new potions. She didn't like to be without a healthy supply.  
  
Later, she would chart their eventual course to Ivarstead. She needed to lighten her load, first, and Argis needed time to think about whether he was ready to face Alduin a second time. Most mortals didn't survive their first sighting, after all.  
  
"Actually, that gives me an idea," she said, out of the blue.  
  
Argis frowned, stopped short just behind her. "What does?"  
  
"I wonder where Ralof is, these days," she said to herself, speculatively.  
  
"Corinne?" asked Argis, his voice low and concerned.  
  
"It's nothing, Argis," she said, waving a hand. "Just thinking out loud. Come on, there's one more shop I need to visit."  
  
If he had any qualms about descending to the Grey Quarter so late in the evening, he kept them to himself. Corinne strolled at her leisure through the narrow, winding alleys, as though taking an evening constitutional, as the fine ladies in Evermore sometimes did. She stopped by the gate to the docks and bought some wildflowers from a flower-seller. They weren't anything she couldn't easily find herself, but they were cheap, and she could always use more mountain flowers for her potions.  
  
The pawnshop was dingy and cramped, every available surface covered in merchandise of all stripes, from home repair supplies to animal pelts. It was Corinne's favorite shop in Windhelm, for this exact reason. Whatever strange thing she needed to buy, it was always even odds that Sadri might have something lying about that would serve. What's more, he would take off her hands whatever bizarre loot was weighing down her saddlebags, with nary a question as to how she came by it. As long as it wasn't stolen, he was happy to have it, and he enjoyed haggling over the exchange values almost as much as she did.  
  
"Corinne!" he exclaimed, clapping his hands in delight. "We haven't seen you around these parts much, lately. Good to see that you still have all your limbs attached."  
  
"And that's how I aim to keep 'em," she replied with a cheeky wink. "Got anything weird in your stores?"  
  
"Just what you bring me," said Sadri. "What is it, this time? Troll skulls? Dwemer components? Bloody Thalmor wizard robes? One never knows, with you."  
  
"How do you feel about dragon bones?" she asked.  
  
"Dr--" he started to say, but stumbled. "Dragon bones. Of course. I don't know what I was thinking. One of your own kills, I assume?"  
  
"Freshly slain," she replied proudly.  
  
He slapped his forehead. "And you wonder why I keep asking whether all your limbs are where they ought to be. Ah, but I see you're not alone. I suppose that helps explain your unusual merchandise. New minion?"  
  
Corinne scoffed. "They're not _minions_. He's my new housecarl."  
  
Argis stuck out his hand with a friendly smile. "Argis the Bulwark, at your service."  
  
Sadri shook his hand gamely. "Well, well," he said. "Ulfric finally made you thane, did he? I suppose it was only a matter of time. Good news for us, at any rate, or so I hope."  
  
"Thane of the Reach," corrected Argis with a small frown.  
  
"Ah," said Sadri, trying in vain to hide his disappointment. "Appointed by-- say, whoever replaced old what's-his-name as Jarl in Markarth?"  
  
"Thongvor Silver-Blood," said Corinne, ducking her head to hide her smile.  
  
Now he looked downright impressed. "So, you're a Silver-Blood peon now, are you? That might actually serve you better than having Ulfric's ear, you know. No, no, don't give me that aggrieved look, young lady. We all have to be somebody's minion and somebody's master, and as masters go, at least the Silver-Bloods are rich."  
  
"You know Ulfric doesn't listen to anyone but Galmar," said Corinne apologetically. "I do what I can, really, but if he won't hear Brunwulf, what chance have I got?"  
  
"I know, Corinne," said Sadri with a sigh. "No one expects miracles from you."  
  
She resisted the urge to point out that this was patently untrue. "Let's trade," she suggested. "Tomorrow morning is soon enough to deal with the rest of it."  
  
The pawnbroker wiped the concerned frown off his face, replacing it with a personable smile. "I look forward to seeing what oddments you're looking to get rid of, this time."  
  
It was late by the time they got back to the Frozen Hearth with their empty bags and full purses. Strictly speaking, Corinne knew that she didn't really need to pinch every penny, anymore. If she was going to be marrying into wealth, picking up everything she could possibly barter and lugging it the length and breadth of the province to find a buyer was a waste of her time. Old habits were hard to break, though, and she had a sneaking feeling that this one would be especially stubborn.  
  
She and Argis sat in the cozy barroom that night, eating their dinner and listening to a pretty Dunmer bard play the same three songs, over and over again.  
  
"She never plays anything else?" asked Argis, watching her strum a lute over the lip of his mug.  
  
"No one ever requests anything else," replied Corinne with a shrug.  
  
"You should share some of your stories with her, like you did with Ogmund," he suggested. "Maybe she'll be inspired to write something new."  
  
Corinne laughed. "Well, it's not like I promised him exclusivity. Of course, for a more immediate solution, you could always request a song yourself."  
  
"You don't mind?" he asked, eyebrow raised. "You've no idea of my taste in music."  
  
"I'll risk it," said Corinne with a smile. "Actually, I think I'll go outside and get some air, but be sure to give her my compliments."  
  
Argis frowned. "You're sure you want to go out alone after dark?"  
  
"It's just a short walk, Argis," she said reassuringly. "Windhelm is a lot safer than Markarth after dark. Besides, I don't fancy any thief's odds against my dagger and my left hook."  
  
He laughed at that and quipped something about wishing he could see her brawl like a drunk sailor. A few more words of reassurance were all it took before she could slip out the door, throwing a cloak over her shoulders. Outside the tavern, she glanced this way and that. Sometimes, especially in summer, the patrons would take their pints outside and drink in the cool, fresh night air. Tonight, the square was deserted. With a light step, she made her way from shadow to shadow and crept down the carved steps that led to the Grey Quarter. There wouldn't be trouble; there rarely was, but that was no reason not to make sure that everyone remembered that she was there, and she was watching.


	16. Plans in Motion

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Corinne (reluctantly) rides to Whiterun to request help.

When their business in Windhelm was concluded -- when Corinne had judged both herself and Argis sufficiently recovered from their dragon encounter -- they took the Elder Scroll and left the city. They rode down White River and skirted the edges of the sulfur plains, and ended up spending another night in Fort Amol, before they finally made to Ivarstead. It was quiet as ever, and Wilhelm was only too happy to put them up for a couple of nights while they geared up for the long climb up to the Throat of the World.  
  
"He has a way of sensing where I am, and what I'm doing," she said, on the last night before their climb. "I don't know how he does it, but if the Elder Scroll works -- if I learn the Thu'um to bring him down -- _he'll know_."  
  
Argis was meticulously counting arrows into both their quivers, his brow furrowed and mouth in a tight line. "Will he show up then and there, do you think?"  
  
"I don't know," Corinne admitted. "I'm not a dragon, I don't understand how he thinks. Does he fear Dragonrend? Will the fear make him stay away, or draw him in to eliminate the threat? I wish I knew."  
  
"We need to be prepared for anything," he concluded grimly.  
  
"We're as prepared as it's possible for us to be," she replied. "Try to get some sleep. We'll be up before the sun, if we want to start climbing as soon as there's light."  
  
They climbed the mountain, untroubled by beasts, and passed through the temple at High Hrothgar under the watchful eyes of the silent Greybeards. Arngeir and the others knew her errand, and her determination. She, for her part, knew that they disapproved, but if Akatosh had wanted to spare his firstborn, he might have chosen a more merciful vessel for his gift than an assassin. Corinne walked through the silent halls under the sight of the masters, and let their judgment roll off her back like water. She Shouted to clear the way before them, and she and Argis made the climb up to the peak. As they were approaching, the sun's rays began to slant, and Corinne paused to catch her breath and rest her throat.  
  
Argis watched her impassively.  
  
"Paarthurnax is not like the others," she said, once her throat felt less raw.  
  
"You explained already," Argis reminded her.  
  
"It's still a bit of a shock to see him for the first time," she said. "Are you ready?"  
  
Argis tilted his head and asked, "Are you?"  
  
Corinne pasted on a bright smile that felt hollow and brittle, and said, "As ready as I'll ever be. Let's go."  
  
To his credit, Argis only flinched slightly at the sight of Paarthurnax's great, scaled form coiled on top of the Word Wall, wings folded, tail whipping idly this way and that. He looked like a huge cat to her eyes, and she wondered if it were simple habituation or the work of the sossedov crawling inside her veins. Paarthurnax spread his wings and circled briefly above them, landing in the middle of the clearing with an earth-shaking, bone-rattling thud.  
  
"Do you have the Kel, Dovahkiin?" he asked her. "Yes, you must. I felt its power approach."  
  
"I have it," she confirmed, and this time her smile was genuine.  
  
"Krin Koriin!" he exclaimed, his voice rumbling through the earth. "Brave girl, you have much to be proud of."  
  
If the weather had been a tad less frigid, she might have blushed. Corinne glanced up at the sky above to confirm that it was clear and blue. She didn't want any sudden squall to confound her chances at victory, not on what might be the most important battle of her life.  
  
"Are you ready to use the Kel, Dovahkiin?" asked Paarthurnax. "The Tiid-Ahraan awaits."  
  
"Will he come, do you think, if I learn it?" she asked. "The Dragonrend Shout?"  
  
"He will come," said Paarthurnax, with the conviction of millennia of age and wisdom behind him. "He is firstborn of Akatosh. He must answer the challenge."  
  
"It could all be over soon," said Corinne hopefully.  
  
"Perhaps," said Paarthurnax. "Vomindok. Such a thing has never been possible, before today."  
  
"I'm ready to read the Scroll," said Corinne. "Argis, stand back, please."  
  
***  
  
On the climb back down the mountain, Argis was silent. Corinne didn't press him for conversation, though she did lean on him heavily on the way down. The desperate fight on the mountaintop had left her throat ice-scorched and her eyes blurry with fatigue. Her mind buzzed with thoughts, none of them welcome, and all of them more-or-less amounting to, _why isn't this over yet?_  
  
Their room at the inn was waiting for them, and given the state that they arrived in, Wilhelm was wise enough not to ask any nosy questions. Argis went to order them food while Corinne ducked into the room and did her best to shuck her armor and exchange it for fresh clothing. With mixed results.  
  
Once she was tucked by the fire with a bowl of soup and a mug of mead, Argis ventured to speak. "So, Whiterun?"  
  
Corinne nodded. "I suppose I'm lucky that Vignar Grey-Mane owes me several favors. Not every Jarl would allow his city to be used to trap a dragon." She snorted into her mug. "Can you imagine Thongvor's reaction if I Shouted an actual, living dragon into Understone Keep?"  
  
Argis barely cracked a smile.  
  
"I know," she said. "I also hoped this would be the end of it, but at least we know what to do next. That's a luxury, in times like these, and one we should be grateful for."  
  
"As you say, my Thane," he replied, and sank back down into his own mug.  
  
***  
  
After a night's sleep and a few square meals, Corinne felt more herself again. Her vision was back to normal, and what few bruises and scrapes she'd accumulated had faded under the influence of her healing potions. Once the horses were saddled and they were on their way, she began to feel downright cheerful. And why shouldn't she? It was a beautiful summer day, the leaves on the trees were green, the birds were singing, and small animals scurried underfoot. Skyrim was beautiful, especially the Rift, and a long ride through the quiet countryside was just the thing.  
  
She wouldn't have to think about Whiterun until she actually got to the city itself, surely.  
  
Soon they were following the river's path again, but the ride didn't long remain as smooth and relaxing as she had hoped. On the morning of the last day, they began to see signs of trouble. A few of Whiterun's outlying farms were abandoned, one or two of them having been burned down to rubble. She remembered the siege engines and the trebuchets, and watching Pelagia farm burn. She shoved down the memory ruthlessly, back to the murky recess from which it had emerged, and affected a cool indifference. The Stormcloaks patrolling the road to the city stopped and saluted her on their way.  
  
On the road to the city, she spotted Honningbrew Meadery and perked up.  
  
"Let's stop for a drink before we head into the city," she suggested to Argis, and spurred her mount up the path without waiting for an answer.  
  
Tethering her horse outside the meadery, she threw open the doors and cried out, "Sabjorn, two meads for your best customer!"  
  
She was greeted by the sight of a phlegmatic Imperial who was manning the bar, wiping mugs with a scrap of cotton in a desultory manner.  
  
She blinked. "What happened to Sabjorn?"  
  
"Change of management," said the Imperial. "Name's Mallus. What can I get you?"  
  
"D'you have that juniper-flavored mead Sabjorn used to make?" she asked.  
  
"I've got the finest mead in all of Skyrim," he said. "Black-Briar mead."  
  
Corinne made a face and glanced over her shoulder at Argis.  
  
He shrugged. "It'll do for me."  
  
"Looks like the Black-Briar family's expanding their business outside the Rift," she murmured, once the barkeep had served them their drinks and backed away to a respectful distance.  
  
Their progress had slowed down as they approached Whiterun, but now that they were in the vicinity of the city itself, Corinne suddenly felt the need to hurry. She rushed past the outlying farmhouses without stopping to look around or chat, as she might've otherwise done. Only when they reached the stables did she slow down again. A carriage was parked outside the stables, large enough to fit several travelers and their packs. It stood, hitched to its horse but otherwise empty, while the carriage driver leaned against a post nearby, a stalk of wheat hanging from his mouth. When he saw them approach, he pushed away from the post and came towards them.  
  
"Need a ride?" he asked through the stalk in his mouth.  
  
"Maybe," said Corinne. "Do you go to either Markarth or Dawnstar?"  
  
"I'll drive to any of the hold capitals, miss," said the driver, finally pulling the stalk out of his mouth. "Twenty gold to go to Markarth or any of the big cities, unless there are no other passengers that day. Fifty to Dawnstar or the smaller cities. Either way, we leave an hour after sunrise, so I can take you tomorrow, unless you want to pay extra."  
  
"I need to get to Dawnstar, but my friend needs to get to Markarth," she said. "Can you really make the round trip in a day, and be here tomorrow morning?"  
  
He laughed. "Miss, if I'm not here, my brother will drive our second carriage, same's I do."  
  
She nodded. "One more question."  
  
"Yes, miss," said the driver.  
  
"When did Honningbrew Meadery change owners?" she asked.  
  
The driver laughed again. "You must've been away from Whiterun for a while, miss. The Black-Briars have owned it for a while, now. Black-Briar mead is all the Bannered Mare serves, anymore, unless you want ale or wine. Dunno what the elves sell in that other place."  
  
She frowned, but nodded and thanked him.  
  
Argis leaned down and asked quietly, "Are we going into the city?"  
  
"It looks like we don't have a choice," she replied, "unless we want to press on towards Rorikstead, but I had really been counting on the carriage to make things easier."  
  
He restrained himself from asking anymore questions, at least until they were both safely sequestered in a very empty, very _dusty_ Breezehome. Corinne bustled about, sweeping the floor and checking the cupboards for anything non-perishable to eat, and generally trying to make the place livable, at least for a night or two. She would have to go to a locksmith and get a copy made of the house key for Argis. It would be handy for him to have, since she wasn't about to go traipsing up to Sky Haven Temple just to get Lydia's copy back from her. When she had given up on finding anything comestible other than assorted liquors, and business hours in the Plains District were nearly over, she dusted her hands on her thighs and beckoned Argis over.  
  
"Time to head to market," she said. "I have some errands to run, but I'll answer all your questions on the way."  
  
"All right," said Argis. "Why are you going to Dawnstar?"  
  
"I have business there," she answered shortly.  
  
"Why am I not coming with you?" asked Argis.  
  
"We're both better off if you don't know the details," replied Corinne. "I'll be safe enough taking the carriage there. You can take both horses back to Markarth. I'm sure they can be tethered to the back of the carriage, or something."  
  
"How will you be getting back?" he asked.  
  
"I have an alternative arrangement in place," she said succintly. "I'll be safe and I won't be alone, if that's what concerns you."  
  
"All right," said Argis, his voice weighty with doubt. " _When_ will you be back?"  
  
She could hear the unasked question that hovered behind that one, and wondered whether she should address it directly or not.  
  
"The Jarl will ask," he hastened to justify himself.  
  
"A week or so," said Corinne finally. "Maybe two. No more, certainly."  
  
"How long will we be in Whiterun?" he asked.  
  
"I'll be leaving tomorrow morning," said Corinne. "You're free to stay in Breezehome a few days more, if you have friends in the city, or if you need time to recover before traveling back to the Reach."  
  
The market was subdued, the shoppers all rushing to get the last of their errands done and head home for the night. Corinne had no trouble getting fresh provisions from Carlotta, who was tending her stall alone, her daughter Mila nowhere in sight. A Stormcloak leaning his elbow against the stall straightened up respectfully when Corinne showed up, and stopped just short of saluting to her.  
  
She made a show of glancing this way and that, and said, "Is Jarl Vignar standing behind me? Or Hjornskar, maybe?"  
  
Carlotta laughed nervously, and the soldier joined in, but soon grew bored and sauntered off in the direction of the Bannered Mare.  
  
Corinne glanced back at Carlotta. "I'd better head down to Warmaiden's before they close. I hope you're keeping well."  
  
"I thought we were here to talk to the Jarl about using Dragonsreach for... you know," said Argis softly as they headed back down towards the city gates.  
  
"I will, I'll talk to him about it," she promised. "I just think we need to have a decent meal, first, and you need a key to the house if you're going to be staying there."  
  
"Did you plan on my having an extended stay?" asked Argis.  
  
She shook her head. "Even if it's just a night or two, you still need a key. Besides, we'll be back to Whiterun, sooner or later." Her mouth twisted in distaste at the thought.  
  
He asked no more questions, and they reached Warmaiden's just in time to see Adrianne vanish into the shop and Ulfberth emerge to replace her at the forge. He smiled and waved at Corinne as he did, which was only slightly reassuring.  
  
"What can I do for you?" he asked when she approached.  
  
Corinne produced the key from the jangling bunch in her pouch. "Can you make a copy for me?"  
  
Ulfberth visibly sighed with relief. "No problem. Copying keys is easy."  
  
"Practicing your smithing?" she asked, as though idly. "Where's Adrianne off to? Usually she's at the forge, during market hours."  
  
"Addy doesn't like to be out after dark," said Ulfberth shortly.  
  
She looked up at the sky, which was just starting to gain a violet cast to it. "It's not dark out."  
  
"It will be soon," said Ulfberth, and nothing more.


	17. Old Friends

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Corinne revisits some unfinished business in Dawnstar.

Thongvor was not very impressed to discover Argis Two-Scythes loitering in his throne room, one bright summer afternoon, _without_ his Thane by his side. He'd finally gotten the city under control for long enough that his concern for Corinne began to bubble up to the surface again, and here was the very man he'd assigned to protect her, conspicuously derelicting his duty. For a long, ugly moment his chest ached with fear, before fury rose up obligingly to drown it out. He stalked across the throne room towards him.  
  
"What's the meaning of this?" he demanded.  
  
Argis startled, but soon composed himself and bowed, fist to his heart. "My Jarl."  
  
"Where is your charge?" asked Thongvor. "What are you doing back in Markarth without her?" _How dare you show your face here without her._  
  
"My Jarl," the younger man began, flinching slightly, "Thane Corinne ordered me back to the city, and requested me to inform you that she has urgent business to attend in Dawnstar, and will return to Markarth within a week or two."  
  
Thongvor drummed his fingers on his forearm. "Dawnstar."  
  
"Yes, my Jarl," said Argis. "I would not have presumed to ask what her business there is, of course."  
  
"Did she say anything else?" asked Thongvor. "What about the Elder Scroll? Was your mission successful?"  
  
The housecarl hesitated. "We retrieved the scroll," he said. "Thane Corinne said to tell you that--" he cleared his throat-- "that _Alduin fled before her, and on their next meeting, she's sure to defeat him_."  
  
Thongvor coughed into his fist. "Yes, that does sound like her," he admitted.  
  
Argis ducked his head, obviously hiding a smile.  
  
***  
  
Dawnstar was a sleepy and harmless little mining town, with delusions of being a hold capital. What claim to fame it had once had, had disappeared into the mists of history centuries before. Now it lay suspended in the heavy snows of the Pale, even in deep summer, and held in thrall to a cantankerous old Jarl who prized his grudges above the needs of his subjects. Khajiit caravans visited it every so often, to trade with the mines and the shopkeepers. Dawnstar's people were rightfully suspicious and more than a little superstitious, having been recently the targets of the Cult of Vaermina, and before that, a necromancer of sordid inclinations. They gossipped about the mysterious black door that was nestled in the cliffs north of town, but no one in their right minds dared to approach it.  
  
Corinne af-Umasa, Listener of the Dark Brotherhood, had to come up with a convincing excuse to explain why she meant to wander the shores of the Sea of Ghosts. _Collecting pearl oysters_ did not seem to qualify, and even _looking for shipwrecks_ raised a few eyebrows. She was half-sure that Karita believed she was sneaking away for a secret liaison, which was a convenient enough fiction she could allow the girl to believe. Even if it ended up transmuting into lurid gossip by the next time she was in town. Besides, it wasn't even entirely untrue. She _was_ going to meet someone, and her purpose was certainly illicit.  
  
When she'd finally made her way to the sanctuary, she discovered that her fellow assassins were less than impressed with the length of her absence.  
  
"Well, well, well," an impossibly sarcastic voice drawled. "Babette, come quickly. Our erstwhile Listener has finally decided to grace us lowly peons with her presence. We should mark the occasion with a great feast, don't you think."  
  
"Now, Nazir," said Babette, her red eyes alight with mischief, "let's not be uncharitable. For all we know, she was out picking very important skirmishes with the Imperial Legion. There's a war going on, you know."  
  
"I'll have you know," said Corinne, trying to sound playfully mock-offended and not actually hurt, "that since I saw you last I killed _several_ dragons."  
  
"Yes, yes," said Nazir, waving a dismissive hand. "You're the Dragonborn, and your business is very important, etcetera etcetera. You know that without a Listener, we can't get any new contracts, right? Poor Babette hasn't had more than a light snack in months."  
  
"Poor me," said Babette, her lower lip wobbling.  
  
"You're terribly cruel to me," Corinne informed them.  
  
"You'd better get down to the Night Mother's crypt now, before Cicero wakes up," advised Nazir. "He's going to be _beside himself_ when he sees that you're back."  
  
Corinne winced, and Nazir smiled viciously.  
  
" _Exactly_ ," he said. "Who do you think we've been sending to sniff out rumors of sacraments performed, while you were gone?"  
  
"He was not pleased to be away from dear Mother," added Babette, strolling back to her alchemy work station to rifle through the nightshade and amanita.  
  
"Fine," said Corinne with a frown, "but after that, we need to talk about our human resources problem."  
  
"We are a little short-staffed," admitted Nazir. "But contracts first. I can't send our new recruits to the field without a mission."  
  
The Night Mother had four new contracts for her. Was it her imagination, or did the withered corpse in her iron sarcophagus sound a little judgmental and impatient? But surely the infinite void that powered the Dread Father's voice could reach her anywhere in the material plane, even in Markarth. Then again, the fact that the First Serpent was deigning to speak to her at all, even through his servant, was already one theological conundrum too many for Corinne's delicate sensibilities. She was instead relieved to find that one of the contracts was something she could handle on her way back to Markarth. She let Nazir distribute the other three, before drawing him aside for a private chat.  
  
"Did you really want to discuss the Brotherhood's business, or were you looking for some stress relief?" he asked once they were shut up in the privacy of her room.  
  
"The former," said Corinne, frowning. "I've made alternative arrangements for relieving stress."  
  
"Ah, a shame," replied Nazir with a wry smile. "If you change your mind, you know where to find me."  
  
"We're an organization of six, Nazir," said Corinne. "This can't go on. We need more members, and what's more, we need more sanctuaries."  
  
"A new sanctuary can only be founded if there's a Listener to provide contracts, and Speakers to distribute them," said Nazir. "You know this. Even if we had enough members to populate a second sanctuary, you can barely keep up with the contracts for this one province. And let's face it, Skyrim is not exactly the most assassination-prone province in Tamriel."  
  
"I know," said Corinne, biting her thumbnail. "But what are we supposed to do? If we don't expand into the other provinces, if we don't re-establish control across the continent, the Dark Brotherhood will fade into history within our lifetimes."  
  
"You think big, Listener, and I appreciate that," said Nazir. "Really, I do. For the moment, though, solidifying our control of Skyrim is the most ambitious plan that we can act on. To do that, the contracts have to be prioritized. The longer people have to wait after performing the Black Sacrament, the less likely they are to have faith in the Night Mother, and her enduring connection linking us to the void whence we all came."  
  
"I have other allegiances," she said. "I can't remain in Dawnstar indefinitely. Not right now. I'll be back soon, and we'll have a new set of contracts."  
  
"This is why Listeners are discouraged from having external attachments," he retorted sharply. "Your first allegiance should be to the Brotherhood. Sithis demands it."  
  
"Sithis can get in line," she snapped.  
  
His voice went deadly soft. "I would think twice before you say something like that, Corinne."  
  
"I didn't mean that," she said. "I didn't."  
  
She dropped down to sit heavily on the bed, leaning her elbows on her knees and burying her face in her hands.  
  
Nazir shuffled over and patted her shoulder awkwardly. "I know you're under a lot of pressure."  
  
She mumbled some sort of a reply, she didn't even know herself what.  
  
"Since you need some good news, you should know that our new recruits have just about proven themselves," he said. "Once they've completed another set of contracts or two, I think I can start to send them out rumor-hunting, and maybe in a few months they'll be seasoned enough that we can bring in a new set of initiates."  
  
Corinne sniffed and wiped her face on a handkerchief. "It's inevitable that our chapter will be comprised mostly of new, unseasoned assassins, Nazir," she said. "I know you don't like it, but creating veterans takes time, and that's time we can't afford to take. We're weak, and we need new blood to get stronger."  
  
"There's a thought," said Nazir. "Hmm."  
  
"What, new blood?" asked Corinne.  
  
"No," he said. "Veterans. Disgruntled legionnaires, veteran Stormcloaks, everyone who's ever had their faith in their cause shaken by endless war. Historically, former soldiers have been fertile recruiting grounds for the Brotherhood."  
  
"Stormcloaks tend to favor heavy two-handed weapons," said Corinne, "and typical Nord warriors aren't usually what you'd call stealthy. Not ideal assassin material."  
  
"True," said Nazir with a smile. "Also true that this would be much easier if a certain Listener hadn't gone and stuck her nose into Skyrim's troubles with the Legion."  
  
Corinne made a face.  
  
Nazir patted her shoulder again. "Don't worry about it. Let me handle recruiting, and let the Night Mother be the judge of when we're ready to receive a new Listener, and open a new sanctuary."  
  
"Tell me you'll at least look into a new safe-house," she begged. "We don't need a repeat of Falkreath."  
  
Nazir grimaced. "No, we don't. Fine. That's a good idea actually. I'll also try recruiting from the Thieves' Guild, while I'm at it. We've always had a fruitful business relationship, regardless of their recent troubles."  
  
"Oh!" said Corinne, straightening up. "You just reminded me that I meant to ask you about that. Do you know what the Guild has been up to, lately? Have they been moving tendrils outside of Riften?"  
  
"Not that I've heard of, but I'll keep an eye open," he replied. "You'll know what I know, Listener. If, that is, you deign to make an appearance at the sanctuary, every once in a while."  
  
"There's the sarcastic bastard I know," said Corinne with a genuine smile.  
  
"At your service," said Nazir.  
  
"I'll be back," she promised. "I'll try for monthly visits, barring any of the usual world-ending events."  
  
"No world-ending for a while, I think," said Nazir. "Satakal isn't done with you, my Listener, or with any of us. This world has some life in it, yet."


	18. Uncomfortable Truths

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Corinne's moderately triumphant return to Markarth.

The city guard, and the Stormcloaks who patrolled the outlying region, were all under strict instructions to send word to the Jarl with all deliberate haste, the moment they sighted the Reach's misplaced Thane. The guard were all familiar with her, of course. Corinne had made quite an impression on them, starting with her very first visit to Markarth. Amongst the Stormcloaks, there were some who had seen her in action in the battle of Fort Sungard. Whatever else would happen, Thongvor could be sure that he would be informed of Corinne's return as soon as could be humanly managed.  
  
But she was a creature full of surprises, and he should have known that he couldn't possibly predict what strange act of mischief she'd commit next. When he received word that she was sighted on the approach to Salvius farm, he settled his business and descended into the city, to the Treasury House. She wouldn't wind her way up to the Keep as soon as she entered the city, or so he guessed. She would have other business to attend to, first, and while he didn't want their next meeting to take place in a crowded marketplace, or at the inn, the Treasury House was relatively private. For one thing, the back room was still technically his to use as he pleased.  
  
When Betrid came in from her daily squandering expedition, she was wearing a pair of new rings and a smile the likes of which he'd never seen on her face, in ten years' acquaintance.  
  
"You're in a good mood," he remarked, flipping a page in his book.  
  
"Can you guess who I met at the marketplace?" she asked in a sing-song voice, another innovation, and one he didn't care for.  
  
"Maybe you don't know this, Betrid, but I've always hated guessing games," he said flatly. "Ask Thonar about it."  
  
"I will," she said, resting her hands on his shoulders and leaning over to look at the book in his hands.  
  
Thongvor sighed and shut the book, leaving it on the table with the remains of his lunch. "Who did you meet at market, Betrid?"  
  
"Your little pet is back in town," she replied, and the familiar piquant note was back in her voice. "Corinne af-Umasa."  
  
He raised an eyebrow. "You met her at market? I wasn't aware that you frequented the arms and armor stalls."  
  
"She was at Kerah's stall," she replied pointedly. "Not buying. I gather she brought a letter from their Stormcloak son, or something like that."  
  
"That's thoughtful of her," he remarked. "Letters don't always travel reliably, these days."  
  
"I know," said Betrid. "I haven't heard from my sister in a while."  
  
"Morthal is still under Imperial control," he pointed out. "That must make it hard for couriers to cross the border between holds."  
  
"I _know_ that, Thongvor," said Betrid irritably. "Just ask your overlord when he plans on finally conquering Hjaalmarch, so my sister can come and visit. Better yet, ask your new sweetheart. With her reputation, she'll probably be leading the charge."  
  
"Why don't you ask her yourself?" he suggested. "Corinne seems to like you." _For some reason_ , he thought, but did not add.  
  
"Perhaps I shall," declared Betrid, sticking her nose in the air. "She'll probably find her way here, sooner or later, to talk with Thonar. If you'll excuse me, I'm very tired, so I'm going to go and take a nap."  
  
Thongvor resisted, with some difficulty, the urge to snipe at her about being exhausted from the hard work of doing nothing at all, all day. He was in no position to pass judgment. He'd shirked his duties and left Reburrus to handle the business of the hold, while he idled at his brother's house, reading not very interesting books and waiting for a girl to pay attention to him. The fear that Corinne would make him feel old was as nothing to the mortifying reality of feeling just as though he were fifteen again. Not an age he cared to revisit, by any means.  
  
Fortunately, he was rescued from being alone with his thoughts by the sound of the front door opening, and Nana Ildene appearing in the doorway.  
  
"You have a visitor, dear," she said, in her affectedly gentle tone that always climbed on his last nerve, for some reason.  
  
"Thank you, Nana, that will be all," he said shortly.  
  
She showed Corinne into the room and gently shut the door after her.  
  
"So, you survived Blackreach," he said, clasping his hands together to keep from fidgeting.  
  
"I did," said Corinne.  
  
"And you found an Elder Scroll there?" he asked.  
  
"As promised by an elderly Imperial madman," she said.  
  
"And, if Argis's report is to be believed," he went on, "you fought Alduin the World-Eater to a standstill at the Throat of the World, and he fled before you could defeat him."  
  
"More or less," said Corinne. "It's a complicated story. Might I have a seat?"  
  
He was startled into shame by realizing he hadn't offered her even the most basic hospitality. "Of course," he said hastily, gesturing at the chair opposite his.  
  
She sank into the chair gracefully, though there was something of weariness in the heavy lines of her body. She leaned forward a little too much, like a listing stone tower. She rested her chin on her hand and looked at him silently for a long moment.  
  
Thongvor considered and discarded several possible statements, before finally settling on what to say. "What needs doing?"  
  
Corinne sighed. "I need access to Dragonsreach," she said, "but Vignar Grey-Mane is quite unreasonable on the subject of my luring a great big fire-breathing dragon directly into the middle of his city, which was recently almost burnt to a crisp in the civil war."  
  
He couldn't hide a smile until the implications of her words sank in and the smile disappeared like snow on a spring morning. "Lure... a dragon? Into Whiterun?"  
  
"That's what Dragonsreach was built for!" she complained, throwing up her hands.  
  
"In the First Era!" he answered. "In the age of heroes! That was a long time ago, Corinne. Whiterun's not equipped to deal with having a _captive dragon_ in a city full of civilians. By Ysmir!"  
  
"I know all about Olaf and Numinex," she informed him archly. "I heard it directly from the ghost of the man who set it down in verse."  
  
"You..." He was suddenly very glad that he was sitting down.  
  
"I passed through Solitude, a while back," she replied. "I may technically be a member of the Bards College."  
  
He took a moment to process this new information and the emotions that came with it. "You confuse and terrify me."  
  
Corinne smiled sweetly and said, "You say the most romantic things."  
  
Thongvor clutched his head. "Getting back to the subject of Vignar Grey-Mane."  
  
"Right," said Corinne, all business again. "As I said, he's being quite unreasonable, especially since I figure he owes me a little bit for even having the throne of Whiterun to begin with, not to mention that whole business with his nephew. Come to think of it, this would be a lot easier if Thorald or Avulstein were in charge."  
  
"They will be, soon," said Thongvor dryly. "Vignar doesn't have very many good years left."  
  
"But obviously not soon enough," said Corinne. "I'm afraid I must capitulate to old Jarl Grumpy-Pants and his unreasonable ultimatum."  
  
He choked back a laugh. "I suppose he wants you to climb down into some awful, draugr-ridden crypt and retrieve some historical artifact that's been lost to the ages since the First Era."  
  
"No," said Corinne thoughtfully. "He wants me to end the civil war."  
  
Thongvor coughed into his hand. "What a reasonable condition," he choked out.  
  
"Well, I was planning on doing that, sooner or late," she replied blithely. "I'll simply have to alter my schedule, is all."  
  
"Oh, is that all," he said.  
  
Corinne leaned forward and smiled gently. "Are you quite all right?"  
  
"I was worried about you," he admitted, though the words felt like white-hot steel when they were ripped from his mouth. "I'm starting to realize that there's going to be a lot more of that in my future."  
  
She frowned. "This is part of why I insisted on keeping our arrangement secret," she said. "There is still time for you to change your mind. You don't have to tie yourself to me and my death-dealing ways."  
  
"I've done my fair share of death-dealing, in my day," he pointed out.  
  
She hesitated, but he knew what she was carefully not saying.  
  
"I'm not reneging on our deal, Corinne," he said firmly.  
  
Corinne chewed her lip. "You should know that there will always be things I have to hide from you."  
  
"Things like your adventures with the Bards College?" he asked.  
  
She shook her head. "Secrets that aren't wholly mine to share. Dangerous secrets. Things that could put both of us in danger if you know them, and a lot of other people, besides." She sighed and pressed her hands together. "I need you to take this seriously. There is a part of my life that will always, _always_ be veiled to you."  
  
He thought this over. "Like whatever business you had in Dawnstar that you didn't want Argis to know about?"  
  
"That's part of it, yes," she admitted. "I will answer any other question you have, even the things that make me look bad. Any secret that's mine to share. In return, you have to promise that when I tell you not to pursue something, you'll drop the subject, instantly and completely. No inquiring behind my back, or sending out feelers, or spies, or anything like that."  
  
"I'm not generally in the habit of spying," said Thongvor dryly.  
  
"But Thonar is," said Corinne.  
  
He spread out his hands. "I can't control what Thonar does."  
  
She sighed. "Fine. I'll take care of Thonar. Just-- don't rise to his bait."  
  
"I understand," he said. "What about the war? Will you be leaving immediately?"  
  
"I have some letters to send and some people to see," said Corinne, "but I expect I'll be in the Reach for a while, yet. It may take some time to-- well, without going into any detail, there are preparations and groundwork that need laying before we can act."  
  
He nodded. "I expect you're staying at the inn again."  
  
"I paid in advance for three nights," she said.  
  
"You probably want to go and get some rest," he said, reluctantly. "Argis is waiting for you at the Keep if you have business outside the city walls."  
  
"Actually," said Corinne thoughtfully, "I have some questions for Thonar about his business partners. Saw some odd things on the way to Whiterun."  
  
"Do you mean to tell him about our plans?" asked Thongvor.  
  
She shrugged. "Tomorrow is soon enough."  
  
"That's for the best," he agreed. "Not that I anticipate that he would try and foul it up, but he can be dreadfully snide when he wants to be."  
  
She laughed and stood up. "We'll talk again soon," she promised. "Later today, or tomorrow."  
  
Thongvor sighed and reluctantly rose from his seat. "I had better return to my business, too."  
  
***  
  
Thonar had no useful information for Corinne about Maven Black-Briar's movements in Whiterun. He offered to ask his agents in Riften to look into the matter, which obviously came as a surprise to her.  
  
"If the Thieves' Guild is on the rise, that affects Silver-Blood business interests," he said. "Thank you for bringing this to my attention. I'll remain alert to changes in the status quo."  
  
"Speaking of the status quo," said Corinne, "I wouldn't make any sudden movements in Hjaalmarch if I were you. For the next, oh, two weeks or so."  
  
He raised an eyebrow. "Good to know. Any other news I should know about? And why are you being so generous with your intelligence, anyway?"  
  
"We're business partners, aren't we?" she replied with a cheeky smile.  
  
"Occasionally," he said. "And?"  
  
"It's to my benefit to keep our status as allies secure," said Corinne. "Don't you agree?"  
  
"Staying on the Silver-Blood family's good side is certainly more profitable than otherwise," he said.  
  
"That's what I'm counting on," she said, smiling so slyly that he couldn't help but wonder what she was hiding.  
  
He found out the very next day, and he was not at all amused to learn of it.  
  
"What fool plan are you concocting, Corinne?" he asked, arms crossed, when she stepped into his office first thing in the morning.  
  
"Solidifying our alliance," she had the gall to reply. "More or less."  
  
"Was this your plan all along?" he demanded to know. "To get to my brother through me?"  
  
She looked amused, if anything. "You flatter yourself, Thonar, if you think I or anyone needs to go through you to get to him. If you'll recall, when we first started doing business, Thongvor was no closer to being Jarl of the Reach than he was to being declared Emperor. I couldn't have predicted who would receive Igmund's throne when the Stormcloaks took Fort Sungard."  
  
"Really?" he asked dryly. "You didn't have an inkling that it might be the patriarch of the most powerful, wealthiest family in the Reach?"  
  
Corinne shrugged. "It was at Ulfric's discretion, and he's notoriously temperamental. I couldn't begin to guess what goes through his mind."  
  
Thonar was reluctantly forced to admit that this tracked perfectly with the man's reputation. That his older brother had chosen to throw in his lot with someone who suffered from his exact same vices, was no less disappointing for being totally predictable. The union with Corinne was less easy to predict. In the back of his mind, he'd always assumed that, Dragonborn or no, Corinne af-Umasa would eventually return to whence she came, whether to Hammerfell or High Rock he didn't know. But to marry into a position like Jarl showed a degree of commitment that was baffling in a girl who in the first place wasn't a Nord, and in the second, couldn't possibly be older than twenty-five at the most. He could count on the fingers of one hand the number of Jarls who'd had foreign consorts _this era_.  
  
"What's your game?" he asked again. "And don't give me that nonsense about allying with the Silver-Bloods. It was obvious from the start that your need for our money would be a temporary thing, and marriage is a very permanent solution for that."  
  
"Maybe it's because I like him," she suggested cheekily.  
  
He snorted.  
  
"All right, since you're bent and determined to be a cynic," said Corinne. "I _do_ like him, though, for the record."  
  
"So what is it, then?" he asked.  
  
"I have plans," said Corinne. "Big plans. Plans for Skyrim, and for the Reach. Thongvor knows all that he needs to know, and when it becomes necessary, you'll know, too. Until such a time, I'm going to have to ask you not to pry into my business. Some things are secret for a reason."  
  
"Like the red and black leather armor the guards confiscated off you when you were interned into Cidhna Mine?" asked Thonar.  
  
"Yes," she said softly. "That's exactly the sort of thing you shouldn't be asking questions about. I trust that you're clever enough to figure out _why_ on your own, but if you're not, ask your friend Maven Black-Briar to clarify the matter for you."  
  
They stared at each other for a long, tense moment before Thonar cleared his throat and was the first to look away.  
  
He shuffled some papers around on his desk and said, "Since you're determined to see this fool plan through, and there's nothing I can do to dissuade you--"  
  
"Nothing at all," she confirmed with a beatific smile.  
  
"Let me get out my books," said Thonar, "and we can go over your assets. Assuming you have any assets. Where were you living before you came to Markarth?"  
  
"Here and there," said Corinne. "On the road, mostly. I do have a house in Whiterun, which is currently standing empty and rather dusty."  
  
"I can assign one of our agents in Whiterun to manage it for you," said Thonar, "unless you'd rather get a tenant. The additional income from rent would be yours, of course."

"That might be a good idea," she admitted. "Whiterun was still in a bad way when I last visited. Houses burned down and damaged. There will definitely be demand for it, while the city is being rebuilt."

He nodded and made a note of it in his ledger. "Anything else?"

"A piece of land south of Lake Ilinalta," she said.

That took him by surprise, though he decided not to show it. "Anything on it?"

"A one-room hunting lodge," she said. "I stay there occasionally on my way through the region, and the rest of the time I use it for storage. When I'm not around, I have someone living there to take care of the place, keep an eye out for wolves, and so on."

"It's prudent to have a steward," he said.

"More or less," said Corinne, making a face.

He raised an eyebrow.

"I was assigned a housecarl when I was made Thane of Falkreath," she admitted.

"So that would be your third thaneship," said Thonar, trying to keep his thoughts to himself. "Or was it the second? I imagine Dengeir gave it to you after he was restored by the Stormcloaks."

"Actually, it was Siddgeir," said Corinne.

"You don't have to tell Thongvor about that part if you can help it," he advised. "He's always detested the man. Any other titles or honors that I should know about?"

Corinne shrugged. "Not yet?"

No, Thonar was not remotely amused to learn that he would soon be related to Corinne af-Umasa. 


	19. Wedding Jitters

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Corinne and Thongvor prepare for their wedding, each after their own fashion.

On her third morning since returning to the city, Corinne paid another visit to Kerah and Endon, Instead of waiting for the market to open and meeting her at her usual spot, she rose early and climbed the stone steps up to one of Markarth's more dignified quarters, to knock on their door. Adara answered by opening the door a crack and peeping over the edge shyly, but when she saw who was there, she threw the door open, squealing excitedly. Corinne let herself in, smiling, while Adara tore across the house to notify her parents.  
  
"Mama! Mama! Corinne is here to visit!"  
  
Endon caught her around the middle, just before she plowed into him, and lifted her up on his arms, laughing. "Come on, Adara. Why don't you come with me to the workshop, and we can get out of your mother's hair?"  
  
"But I want to see the dre-e-ess!" the girl whined.  
  
"Don't you want to see your Papa work the filigree on the dagger's scabbard from yesterday?" he teased.  
  
Kerah followed him out of the back room, wiping her hands on a dishcloth. "Go with your father, darling," she said. "You'll see the dress soon enough."  
  
When they had gone, Corinne turned to Kerah and said, "Thanks again for all your help with this. The Nord-style court robes are fine enough, in their own way, but..."  
  
"Say no more," replied Kerah, raising her hand up and laughing. "You'll only have one wedding, hopefully. Of course you want it to be perfect."  
  
"How does it look?" she asked curiously.  
  
"Come in the back room and try it on," offered Kerah. "My opinion? You'll have to pick him up off the floor."  
  
***  
  
No sooner had Corinne alerted him to Vignar's outrageous demands, than word began pouring in of skirmishes on the border with Hjaalmarch, even encroaching ever nearer to Karthwasten. On top of everything else he had to worry about, the possibility of the Empire recapturing one of the hold's most valuable mining towns was enough to keep Thongvor awake at night. He was tempted to question whether now was really a suitable time for a wedding, especially with the city still adjusting to his guardianship. Then he remembered that it was all he had been looking forward to since Corinne had left for Blackreach. Whether it was the right time or not, they hadn't the luxury to decide. Corinne would be leaving again soon enough, and when she did, she would leave as his wife.  
  
"What has you so deep in thought?" asked Betrid, intruding on his rumination. "The expression doesn't suit you. It looks unnatural on your face."  
  
He couldn't muster up enough resentment to snap at her. "I was thinking about my wedding," he replied simply.  
  
Even Betrid could not be snide to a man on the day before his wedding. "I wish you much joy of each other," she said dryly. "Have you considered paying a visit to the sisters at the temple before the wedding?"  
  
"However little you might think of my intelligence, Betrid," replied Thongvor, "I do know the facts of life. I'm hardly wanting Dibella's instruction."  
  
"Dibella's instruction covers more than the facts of life," she informed him, her pink mouth twisting into a moue of disdain. "Your young bride might have expectations of you, after all. Many men and women seek out the temple's instructions at your time of life."  
  
He only raised an eyebrow in response.  
  
Betrid propped her fists on her hips and said, "There's no shame in it, it's perfectly normal. Honestly, I'm surprised at you, Thongvor. Those are very _Imperial_ views for a man who prides himself on being a true son of Skyrim. Dibella's cult thrived in Skyrim for centuries, if not milennia. You disappoint me."  
  
And to punctuate her words, she assumed a small, disappointed pout.  
  
"Your kind concern is appreciated, Betrid," he replied, "but I'm not worried."  
  
"Well, you could at least drop by the apothecary's," she suggested before plopping down in the chair across from him with a flounce of her skirts.  
  
He clenched his fists. "I'm damned if I'll be buying _anything_ from that old witch. Mara only knows what horrific reagents she uses in her potions."  
  
Betrid flipped open her book and replied without looking up from its pages, "Then have a look through the trunk in the empty bedroom, if you're going to be stubborn."  
  
He didn't dignify that with an answer.  
  
Thonar was no better when he finally emerged from his office. "I hope you know what you're doing, brother," he said, with an unbearably tragic expression, right before sitting down to dinner.  
  
"You're in no position to dictate my actions," Thongvor told him. "You overstep. My personal decisions are my own."  
  
"Your _personal_ decisions are adding a new dependent to this family, so they are certainly my business, since I manage our finances," replied Thonar. "But no matter. What's done is done, and it's too late to regret it now. Will your lovely bride be joining us for dinner?"  
  
"She had business outside the city," he said shortly.  
  
Thonar made a wordless noise, and he and Betrid exchanged a pointed look.  
  
"What?" asked Thongvor, exasperated.  
  
"Nothing," said Betrid, slicing into her meat.  
  
"I'm sure it doesn't mean anything," agreed Thonar. "Besides, the contracts are all signed and the certificate has been issued, so the marriage would be legally valid even if--"  
  
He dropped his knife with a clatter. "I have no reason to believe that Corinne will be late to the ceremony tomorrow," he said levelly, despite the growing noise inside his head. "I don't know what the two of you are playing at, but you should know that won't succeed. Everything is fine. I have plenty of _real_ worries without attending to invented ones."  
  
"Still no Priest of Talos?" asked Betrid with false sympathy.  
  
"I was referring to the war, actually," he said. "There's been fighting in Hjaalmarch recently, in case you haven't heard."  
  
It was petty and foolish, and he regretted the words almost as soon as they left his mouth, but what is said cannot be unsaid. Betrid looked stricken for a moment, just as though he had actually struck her, and then turned her face to her dinner and was silent for the rest of the meal. Thonar turned to look at him, raising an eyebrow, but Thongvor had nothing with which to reply.  
  
"I never did understand what your objection to Corinne actually is, you know," said Thongvor, once Betrid had retired with a headache.  
  
"I don't object, in principle," said Thonar. "After all, you never had anything to say about my marriage to Betrid, at the time, and it's been nearly a decade. But with Betrid, I knew what I was getting into. I knew her character, and I knew the risks."  
  
"You think I'm walking into this marriage blindfolded?" he asked.  
  
"How much do you really know about her, Thongvor?" asked his brother.  
  
"She's told me a great deal, actually," he replied. "Yes, she keeps secrets, but not without reason. I've accepted that there are some things that Corinne cannot share with me, and that it's not solely her decision to make. If that's what worries you, put it out of your mind. The version of events she shares with me is very different to the version she tells to other people."  
  
Thonar looked so obviously skeptical that he had to laugh.  
  
"You can ask her yourself if you like," he said. "If it won't put anyone in danger, I'm sure she'd be willing to reveal any secret that you were curious about."  
  
"There's a certain organization--" Thonar started to say, and abruptly cut himself off.  
  
"I know," he said, nodding his head. "Or rather, I don't _know_ but there are a lot of clues that I could put together if I'd a mind to do so. I've decided that knowing why Corinne has a bounty in Haafingar is not relevant to our marriage, so I don't pry, per her request. As for her time in Cidhna Mine, arguably, _you're_ the one who concealed it from me, not Corinne."  
  
Thonar flapped his hand. "That was _months_ ago."  
  
"Oh, aye," said Thongvor grimly. "Ancient history, isn't it?"  
  
"Be honest," said Thonar, leaning forward on his elbows. "If I'd told you that I had a troublemaking vagabond thrown in the mines for conspiring with a Forsworn agitator, would you have given a damn? You didn't even know who she was, then."  
  
It was hard to argue with that.  
  
Thonar pressed the heel of his palm into his eyes and sighed, then said, "Look, a great deal has changed in Markarth in a very short time, and it's left us both on edge. The business doesn't handle these abrupt turns of fortune well. I just want to know that things will settle down, at least for a little while."  
  
"I don't know that they will," admitted Thongvor. "It seems that the civil war is finally accelerating again, but whether the next battle will lead to a decisive victory?" He shook his head. "I can't read fortunes."  
  
"Maybe we should ask the new sybil of Dibella," suggested his brother with a snort.  
  
Thongvor cracked a smile.  
  
"Well," said Thonar, draining his wine cup and standing up, "I have an early morning tomorrow, so I'll take my leave."  
  
"I'd best get back up to the Keep, myself," admitted Thongvor. "Any final words of wisdom from my little brother?"  
  
Thonar grimaced at the reminder and said, "Remember that women like her eat men like us alive."  
  
***  
  
With Shadowmere at her disposal once again, Corinne had enough time to dash past the khajiit encampment and the outlying mines, and down to Sky Haven Temple. Though she had no more news for Delphine regarding Whiterun and the civil war, she wanted to check and see how Kharjo was settling in, and maybe have another look at the map of burial sites. She might as well make good use of her time, while she was waiting for her orders from the Stormcloaks to arrive. On her way down to Karthspire, Corinne congratulated herself on her foresight in thinking to recruit Kharjo to the Blades. Someday, having a khajiit agent might come in very handy indeed. With that in mind, she racked her brain for other possible candidates for induction.  
  
"Any news?" asked Delphine curtly when she walked in.  
  
"Still waiting," she replied, "but I have a question for you."  
  
Delphine crossed her arms and leaned back. "I'm listening."  
  
"You know the Thalmor's methods as well as anyone alive, right?"  
  
She smiled wryly. "You could say that."  
  
"I've heard at least five different explanations," Corinne began thoughtfully, "for why they decided to target the worship of Talos, out of all possible _heresies_ for them to take an interest in."  
  
"To weaken Skyrim and fragment the Empire in advance of their next invasion," said Delphine categorically. "Next question."  
  
"Why not Morrowind?" asked Corinne. "Doesn't the Dunmer Daedra-worship offend their sensibilities? Why not the cult of Satakal? And the Reachmen, you know, they have their Old Gods, as they call them. Do _they_ have cause to fear the Thalmor?"  
  
"Everyone on the continent has cause to fear them, Corinne," Esbern interjected.  
  
"What he said," agreed Delphine. "The Thalmor don't and won't restrict their interest in world domination to any particular corner of Tamriel. The reason they targeted Skyrim and Hammerfell before Morrowind is because Morrowind is _already_ weak. A tactical decision, not a true priority."  
  
"Targeting Hammerfell rebounded rather badly on them, I should think," said Corinne.  
  
"That remains to be seen," replied Delphine grimly. "Ravada and his line have not yet lived up to their extravagant promises. We'll have to wait and see whether the kings of Hammerfell have what it takes to go sword-to-sword with the Dominion."  
  
Corinne nodded slowly, deep in thought.  
  
"Why do you ask?" asked Delphine.  
  
"I was wondering whether we had any strong impetus to try and recruit some of the Reach natives into the Blades," said Corinne. "I just wonder whether they would see the Thalmor as a threat when the local Nords give them so much more immediate trouble."  
  
Delphine made a thoughtful noise in the back of her throat. "Interesting idea. I'll give it some thought."  
  
"It would be nice if we could make peace with the Karthspire village, and didn't have to fight our way in and out every time we leave the temple," suggested Esbern. "Maybe we could find some common ground."  
  
"The fighting seems inevitable since they're settled right on our doorstep," said Delphine with a frown. "Rather, I suppose _we're_ the ones who settled on _their_ doorstep, but it was a necessary evil. We needed access to Alduin's Wall."  
  
"We don't need the Wall anymore, do we?" asked Corinne. "We already know everything that's on it."  
  
"But the site itself is of tremendous importance!" exclaimed Esbern, throwing up his hands. "Since Cloud Ruler Temple was sacked, it's the last remaining sanctum of the Blades. It has tremendous historical significance, and it's critical that we maintain and protect it."  
  
"Which means we can't afford to start a war with the local population," said Delphine grimly. "Like it or not, that's what the Forsworn are."  
  
Esbern shrugged.  
  
"Well, I'd better get going, if I want to get _any_ sleep tonight," said Corinne, getting up.  
  
"You know you can always spend the night here, at the temple," said Esbern.  
  
"I know," she replied, "but I have an appointment in the city tomorrow that I just can't miss."


	20. The Inner Sanctum

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Corinne and Thongvor get married and have a surprise guest.

She ended up getting back to Markarth's gates so far past midnight that she had to sternly remind the gate guards that she was Thane Corinne before they would let her in. As a reward, she allowed herself to sleep as late as she wanted, the next morning. Unlike her older sister, she liked mornings and didn't usually mind rising early, but she had been running herself ragged crossing the length and breadth of Skyrim, trying to meet all of her many commitments. Deep in her heart, Corinne knew that she needed a break. What she didn't know was, whether Skyrim would hold while she took it.  
  
With difficulty, she shook this grim thought out of her mind and settled to the task of packing her few possessions and settling her account with Kleppr. It was strange to think of her satchels and saddlebags as containing all her earthly possessions, give or take. She maintained certain necessities in the Dark Brotherhood sanctuary, but the two houses she supposedly owned, Breezehome and Lakeview, were fairly barren. The lodge at Lakeview didn't even have any alchemy equipment, which she was beginning to think might be an oversight. Of course, from now on Understone Keep would be her home, at least nominally. She supposed she could convert one of its rooms into an alchemy lab of her own if she didn't want to continually be shunting Aicantar from the one that Calcelmo had left to his exclusive use.  
  
Argis showed up just in time, wearing a cheery grin and looking mostly recovered from his ordeal at the Throat of the World.  
  
"Excellent timing," Corinne said to him with a grin of her own. "Are you here to help me transport all this nonsense up to the Keep? I doubt I could get it all there, on my own."  
  
"I am sworn to carry your burdens, my Thane," said Argis with mock-solemnity. "Fortunately, since you seem to have a lot more burdens than you can carry on your own."  
  
"I managed to get it all here from the stables, didn't I?" she retorted.  
  
"Is it the stairs that give you pause?" he asked.  
  
"There are _so_ many of them!" said Corinne with a huff.  
  
Argis laughed. "Don't worry about it. Get to the temple, and I'll take care of the rest."  
  
She gave him a very fake salute and hefted the one bag she did need before dashing out the door, leaving him behind, laughing and standing over a pile of baggage.  
  
When Corinne entered the Temple of Dibella, the priestess Senna was standing at the ready to rush her into the inner sanctum to prepare. She'd thought the sisterhood might insist on some kind of ritual purification for brides, but there was only a basin of hot water and several different kinds of expensive scented soap. Kerah was there at her request, to help dress her hair for the occasion. Since she'd left Daggerfall she'd had to manage on her own, and remembering the quiet hours of her childhood when she sat still while her mother combed her hair, she felt a stab of homesickness that she'd almost managed to forget.  
  
"You all right?" asked Kerah, leaning over with concern in her eyes.  
  
She gave a watery smile in reply. "I wish my mother were here."  
  
Mother Hamal nodded.  
  
"I'm sure she's with you in spirit," said Kerah, patting her arm.  
  
Corinne didn't want to admit to her that her mother still didn't _know_ about her impending marriage, and wouldn't, not until she could locate a trustworthy courier who could make the long trip to Daggerfall.  
  
"Skyrim wedding customs often seem hasty to outsiders," said Mother Hamal sagely. "She'll get used to the idea, with time."  
  
"I don't doubt," said Corinne.  
  
Before the conversation could devolve further, a knock came on the door, and Senna's head peeked through the crack.  
  
"Mother Hamal," she said nervously, "someone is here for the Thane's wedding. Should I let her in?"  
  
The priestess's face hardened, then gave way to a deep sigh. "Come in if you must, Betrid."  
  
Senna opened the door, and Betrid Silver-Blood sauntered in with her nose in the air, her silk gown trailing behind her.  
  
"Oh, I do I hope I'm not too late," she said airily.  
  
"Actually," said Corinne, "I wasn't expecting you this early. You're most welcome, of course, but I imagined you would arrive in time for the ceremony itself."  
  
Betrid laughed sweetly. "Silly girl. We're going to be family now, and besides, who knows the Temple of Dibella better than me?"  
  
"Who indeed?" said Mother Hamal dryly.  
  
"Besides," said Betrid, flicking an imaginary strand of hair our of her face, "I have a present for you."  
  
From inside the sleeve of her gown, she produced a small box of carved ivory and handed it to Corinne, who weighed it in her hands before slipping the lid open.  
  
She was speechless for a moment before she finally found the words to say, "Thank you, Betrid. I won't forget this."  
  
Kerah and Anwen exchanged a cryptic look. Corinne shook her head and tipped the open box in Kerah's direction, so she could see the velvet-lined interior and the amulet that rested on it. The pendant was of a yellowish metal, perhaps brass, shaped like a moth, and framed by a perfectly round ring. It was strung on a dyed leather cord and surrounded by pale, curved fangs and long, variegated brown feathers.  
  
"It's not for today," said Betrid, waving a hand carelessly, "obviously. It wouldn't suit your gown. Besides, I wouldn't expect you to wear something that you'd never seen before on what I assume you're planning to be your only wedding day."  
  
"That is the plan, yes," said Corinne dryly.  
  
Betrid laughed, but the sound was strained.  
  
Mother Hamal cleared her throat significantly. "This is all very touching, but if you ladies are done with the primping and the gift exchange, I have some important topics I need to discuss with the bride." She narrowed her eyes at Betrid in particular. "In private."  
  
Kerah patted Corinne's shoulder. "We're just about done here, anyway. If you need help lacing the bodice, just ask for me."  
  
"It's fine," said Corinne with a smile.  
  
Anwen shepherded both Kerah and Betrid out of the inner sanctum, leaving Corinne alone with the stern-faced priestess. She fiddled with the bead at the end of one braid while Mother Hamal puttered about, putting the room back in order. Finally, she pulled up a chair and sat across from her, and her face looked more lined and more tired than Corinne ever remembered seeing it, even when she was up all night searching for the goddess's sybil.  
  
"Betrid's way isn't the only school of thought when it comes to marriage, you know," she said, out of nowhere. "I hope you remember that. Do your people venerate Dibella at all? I tried asking Sister Anwen, but she was vague on the details."  
  
"My mother's people are Forebears," she answered, "and they largely venerate the Imperial pantheon. Some of the names are different, but so it is with the Nords, as well."  
  
Hamal nodded in satisfaction.  
  
"In Daggerfall, we lived near the Temple of Kynareth," she went on, "and my stepmother was-- well, she used to be a Priestess of Akatosh, so she taught me everything I should know."  
  
The priestess pursed her lips. "You have a means of contraception?"  
  
"There's an alchemical mixture, a tea," said Corinne. "Asta mixes it in great big bricks that last for years. She made me memorize how it's brewed and taken when I was thirteen."  
  
Hamal winced slightly, but said, "Prudent. Asta is your stepmother?"  
  
Corinne nodded.  
  
"And your father?" she asked.  
  
"Died before I was born," she replied.  
  
"Would you prefer me to name your mother and stepmother when administering the rite?" asked Hamal.  
  
"I would prefer that, yes," said Corinne, "since they can't be here with me."  
  
"Not a problem," said Hamal crisply. "One last thing. If you want something more reliable and less error-prone than your stepmother's potion, we do provide charms to that effect. Free of charge, but we encourage a symbolic donation to the temple in lieu of payment."  
  
"That seems reasonable," said Corinne. "Was there anything else you wished to discuss, or should I finish getting dressed?"  
  
Mother Hamal rose from her seat and dusted her hands on her thighs. "No, that will be all. I can send the girls back in to help if you like. We'll be waiting for you at Dibella's altar, so do be prompt."  
  
***  
  
The ceremony was brief and efficient, as Corinne had anticipated. The cult of Dibella was known for their love of bells and whistles, but this was still Skyrim, and the Nords, she had learned, were generally terse in their devotionals. They seemed to carry a view that their life was always on the cusp of being cut short and thus were compelled to pack as much of the business of living as they could into the present moment. A blessed view in her current circumstances, she decided, since she was rather short on time herself. She couldn't be sure when word would come in from Windhelm and call her back out onto the battlefield, and every time she left Markarth, she well knew, could be the time she didn't come back.  
  
But thoughts of Alduin and the civil war flew out of her head when the temple doors opened and she stepped out. It was late summer and the evening was balmy and mild, the sun's slanting rays gilding the city's stone and brassworks. Under the deep blue of the slowly darkening sky, seen from this lofty vantage point, the view was heart-stopping.  
  
Thongvor offered her his arm, then bent down to murmur, "It's a pretty fine city, I think, isn't it?"  
  
"Yes, it is," she agreed with a smile.  
  
"Now, let's make our way down, and clear the doorway for everyone still in the temple," he suggested.  
  
Corinne couldn't help but laugh, and on that cheerful note, they picked their careful way down the several flights of stone steps that separated Dibella's sanctum from the city's upper districts. The way from the temple to the Keep was not long, but it wound through enough of the upper city's lanes that they began to attract a small crowd of onlookers. Market hours were not quite over, and the great rush of shoppers heading home for dinner hadn't yet started, but the streets were still full enough for a respectable crowd. They did make an eye-catching pair, she was forced to admit, even discounting how rarely the new Jarl of the Reach was seen outside of Understone Keep. And he'd never looked more the picture of his rank than in his fur-trimmed robes.  
  
"What's that impish grin for?" asked Thongvor, as they skirted both the spray from the waterfall and the curious eyes of their spectators.  
  
"I was just thinking," said Corinne, "how much I like to be seen to best effect. And trying to decide whether you do me credit."  
  
He stopped short and turned to look at her.  
  
"I decided that you do," she informed him.  
  
"Do I," he said flatly.  
  
She smiled a brilliant smile. "You clean up nicely, on the rare occasion that you see fit to leave behind your armor."  
  
" _Do I_ ," said Thongvor again.  
  
Corinne tipped her head in his direction and whispered, "It's a compliment."  
  
"Then why didn't it sound like one?" he asked.  
  
She smiled even more brightly and said, "Maybe you're not used to getting compliments."  
  
Thongvor shook his head and sighed. "Let's get back to the Keep. No need to give all these strangers a free show."  
  
"You're right," she agreed. "We should definitely charge."  
  
He sighed again. "Besides, the new cook is supposed to have dinner waiting for us."  
  
"Oh, that's certainly a powerful inducement!" said Corinne. "You should have led with that."  
  
"You're infuriating, do you know that?" he asked her.  
  
"I'm in a good mood," she informed him. "Don't worry, I'll make it up to you later."


	21. Understone Keep

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Corinne settles into her new role in the Keep's household.

Dinner at Understone Keep was a strange experience. The great stone edifice that she had so long considered as a source of danger was taking on a more familiar aspect, though Corinne knew that it would take a good long while before she could call it a home, in more than name. Thongvor had been Jarl of the Reach for less than a full season, but he was already making his mark on the Keep, if not the city or the hold. The Breton chef who'd died under mysterious circumstances had finally been replaced, with another Breton, a short, tubby woman with a graying bun and a no-nonsense attitude. She served dinner to the Keep's staff, assembled around the long dining hall table, with surprising grace and aplomb.

"Thank you, Maryanne," said Thongvor. "That will be all."

Maryanne nodded briskly and retreated to the kitchens without another word.

"I might've expected you to hire a Nord chef," said Corinne idly, serving herself a wedge of Glenumbran lamb pie.

Yngvar snorted. "Nords are _cooks_ , not chefs," he said. "The only place in Skyrim where they train chefs the way they do in High Rock is--" he glanced at his boss before completing the thought-- "Solitude."

Thongvor made a non-committal noise in reply.

"I, for one, welcome the variety," said Reburrus. "Most of the inns and taverns serve venison flanks salted and roasted to burning. It's nice to eat something that was cooked with actual spices."

Thonar and Betrid, who had been invited as guests, were chatting quietly together in their corner of the table, while opposite them Aicantar was valiantly trying to make conversation with a very awkward, very tense-looking Yuna. Corinne smiled at her and discreetly nudged Argis with her elbow, hoping he would correctly interpret her signal and jump in to smooth over the conversation. Once that was accomplished, she turned her attention back to her own side of the conversation.

"I should give Maryanne my compliments at the first opportunity," she said brightly. "I don't eat half as well as this on the road."

"I can attest to that," said Argis with a grin.

"I hope Thane Corinne isn't mistreating the Reach's valued housecarls on assignment," said Thorygg.

"I wouldn't dream of it," said Corinne solemnly. "I travel alone as often as I can, but when I bring someone with me, they share in my fortunes. The good and the bad. Argis didn't mention the wonders of Blackreach."

This animated Yuna out of her awkwardness. "Blackreach? What was that like? Tell us the story."

Corinne laughed. "It's a long story, and I've had a big day. It begins with an isolated hermit living far to the north of Winterhold and goes thousands of years into the past. Not a story to be told in haste, you see."

Yuna was riveted, her dark eyes sparkling. "You see the most amazing things, Dragonborn. It must be incredible to travel through Skyrim as you do."

"Is there any part of Skyrim you haven't been to, Corinne?" asked Thongvor.

"I've been to all nine holds and their capitals," she replied. "I climbed the steps to High Hrothgar -- not seven thousand, no matter what they tell you -- and made it all the way to the last outpost on the road east to Morrowind. Is Solstheim still a part of Skyrim? I haven't been there."

"Technically not, not since it was ceded after the Red Year," admitted Thorygg. "But you've seen every other part of Skyrim, you say?"

Corinne nodded. "I've seen everything Skyrim has to offer, horrors and wonders alike."

"And you still decided it was worth sticking around for," remarked Thongvor.

She smiled. "Yeah, it's not so bad, here."

"Your gushing approval is noted," said Thonar, emerging momentarily from his close conference with his wife.

"I think Thane Corinne has settled in nicely," said Reburrus. "Not many outsiders adjust to Skyrim's ways so readily. My compliments." He raised his wineglass and toasted her.

"You're too kind," replied Corinne. "The truth is, I was thrown into an impossible situation and I had to think on my feet, that's all."

"Are you certain your upbringing had nothing to do with it?" asked Thongvor.

She frowned. "How do you mean?"

"Mother Hamal mentioned your stepmother, Asta Greenfire," he said. "I just assumed this was the same Asta you told me about, who used to be your nanny." He paused and smiled. "When you said she was like family to you, you neglected to mention how literally you meant it. Surely having a Nord stepmother affected your upbringing."

Corinne scratched the back of her neck. "Well, Asta did do a lot of the work of raising me, when mother was busy at work, or taking care of my sister."

"Did I hear you tell Hamal that she was a Priestess of Akatosh?" asked Betrid suddenly.

"In a previous life," replied Corinne, laughing awkwardly. "She wasn't with any temple when my mother met her, just a common apothecary in Daggerfall."

"Still," said Betrid thoughtfully, "it's curious that you should have a messenger of Akatosh feature so prominently in your early life, years before you knew you were Dragonborn."

"Is it?" she asked lightly. "I hadn't thought about it in this light."

Luckily Maryanne stepped in with dessert, just in time to rescue her from an unwanted theological debate. She waltzed up to the table as the younger kitchen maids were clearing the debris of dinner, carrying a huge pie in one hand and a platter piled high with sweetrolls in the other. How she managed to balance it all, Corinne would never know, but she was grateful for the distraction of food. She wasn't really up to discussing her mother and Asta just then. For days now, she'd been feeling more homesick than she had since the first few months after she left Daggerfall, before she'd even settled in Evermore. This was not a feeling that she cared to share with a table full of people, most of whom she didn't really know all that well.

Thongvor shot her a sidelong glance as he drained his glass and asked softly, "Everything all right?"

She tried for a smile, which probably came out more tired than she'd meant it to. "It's been a long day."

"I'll send everyone away, soon," he promised quietly, "and then it'll be just the two of us."

He was as good as his word. As soon as the dishes were once again cleared, he assumed his most commanding voice and directed both household and guests to disperse. Thorygg shepherded Yuna and Argis away, and Yngvar assumed the duty of escorting the rest of the Silver-Blood household back to the Treasury House, with Reburrus tagging along. Aicantar vanished silently back to Calcelmo's lab, like a ghost in conjurer's robes, and Maryanne shooed the kitchen staff to their beds before bowing out herself, leaving them, at long last, alone.

Thongvor stood up and offered her a hand.

"Very gallant," she said, placing her hand in his. "I approve."

He smiled. "I hope the living quarters are to your liking."

"I daresay they'll be nicer than any of the inn's rooms I've spent most of the past year in," said Corinne dryly.

He laughed. "I suppose they are."

The living quarters were more luxurious than she was expecting, and nothing like any room she'd ever seen, in Markarth or elsewhere. A fork of Markarth's own river tributary ran straight through the room in a carved channel, forming a small, burbling waterfall. To one side was a large fireplace, where a fire was laid despite the warm summer weather. A huge four-poster bed sprawled across a stone dais, separated by carved stone steps. The whole affair was like a microcosm of the city, full of high-ceilinged stonework and shining yellow brass.

Corinne took a few cautious steps into the room, while Thongvor leaned against the doorframe, watching her. When she reached the edge of the rug that dominated the room's empty center, she slipped off her shoes, pushing them off with her toes, and stepped onto it, barefoot. It was exactly as soft as it looked. Throwing a glance over her shoulder, she caught sight of Thongvor's knowing smile.

"You look pleased with yourself," she said. "Enjoying the view?"

"I am," he admitted.

"Kerah predicted that you would pass out at the sight of the dress," she said. "You look pretty upright to me, though."

"I could swoon, if you like," he offered.

Corinne reached behind her to scoop her hair up with both hands. "How about you come over here and help me with this clasp, instead? That's the only downside of the dress. I can't reach to unfasten it, under all of this."

He strode confidently into the room, shutting and locking the door behind him, but stopped short when she swept her beaded braids over her shoulder, eyes wide.

"What is it?" she asked, puzzled.

"Corinne, why do you have a dragon tattoed on your back?" he asked, sounding practically scandalized.

"Oh," said Corinne. "That."

She reached back and brushed her shoulder blade with her fingertips. He stepped forward and hesitantly reached out to touch her fingers.

"When did you get this?" he asked.

"Years ago," said Corinne. "It has nothing to do with--" she waved vaguely-- "all this. It's not a dragon, actually. It's a sep adder."

He traced his finger down a line of where she knew the adder's flightless wings curved over her ribs. "Really?"

"I had no idea that--" she smacked her face with her palm. "It's not a sign, I swear. Could you just--"

"How long did this take to get done?" he asked.

"About three months," she replied, "in installments. Well, I had to pay in installments. Thongvor, is that _really_ what you want to be looking at?"

His fingers skimmed down her side, where the gown dipped down to drape and pool over her lower back, and leaned forward to brush his lips behind her ear. "Good point," he whispered.

"Will you help me with my clasp now, please?" she asked sweetly.

"Anything you want," he promised, sliding his hands up her back to the catch behind her neck.

Corinne sighed and leaned into the warmth of his hands, just a little. "I'm going to hold you to that."

"I hope you do," he said. "I'm fairly certain I still owe you a favor, and if you must know, I've dreamt about you every night for a week."

The clasp snapped open with a soft click, and he brushed the red silk off her shoulders with a light hand, leaving it to slip down and pool at her feet. Corinne stepped out of the red ring formed by the fallen gown and turned around to face him, preening just a little at the hitch in his breath when she turned.

"Are you wearing anything at all under those trousers?" he asked, his eyes following the line of her legs down to her bare feet.

She smiled. "Not a stitch."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Not a real cliffhanger! The next chapter will go up tomorrow.


	22. Debts Paid

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I'll be honest with you, this chapter is pure smut.

Thongvor groaned. "Haven't you tortured me long enough, Corinne?"

" _Me_?" asked Corinne, hands on her hips. "Here I am, baring my skin and soul for you, and you haven't so much as taken off your shoes."

He caught her hand and brought it up to his lips. "A problem easily solved."

Corinne draped her free arm around his neck and pulled him in for a kiss, which he was only too happy to provide. When she untangled her hand from his and pulled at the hem of his shirt insistently, he finally got the message. Reaching behind him, he grabbed the back of his shirt and pulled it off overhead, while Corinne took a step back to watch, bright-eyed. Wrapping his arms around her waist, Thongvor drew her in for another kiss, and she leaned into his warmth, her skin tingling when her nipples brushed against his chest.

He muffled his moan in her shoulder.

"I have a confession," she said breathlessly.

He groaned.

"I'm afraid," said Corinne, "that I'm not usually as easy to please as I was, the last time we met."

He nuzzled her neck and mumbled something indistinct.

"At the inn?" she insisted. "You remember, surely."

"I remember it _constantly_ ," he replied.

"It's just that sometimes--" She stopped short, and her breath hitched when he scraped his teeth over her throat. "Oh."

"Will you do something for me, Corinne?" he asked.

She nodded, then shook her head at her folly and said, "Yes, yes, what is it?"

He pulled back to look her in the eyes and said, "Spread your thighs. I want to taste you."

"Ah, yes," she sighed. "That sounds perfect."

Shedding the last of her fine wedding garments without much ado, she dropped down to sit on the raised bed, while he knelt on the floor beside her. He looked so exactly like a knight in a Breton tapestry, waiting to receive his lady's favor, that it was all she could do not to burst into laughter. She was heady with wine and excitement, but not so much so that she could forget herself. The last thing she wanted was for him to think that she was laughing at him. When he bent his head to press a kiss just above her knee, her amusement vanished, flooded out by a thrill of arousal.

At another time, she might have been tempted to make a quip about seeing whether he knew what he was about.

"Are you ready?" he asked.

She slipped her hand behind his neck and answered, smiling, "Ready."

He hadn't rushed anything else, tonight, and he didn't rush this, either. Softly, slowly, he brushed his lips and his fingertips along the delicate skin of her inner thighs, pausing now and then to flick out the very tip of his tongue. She would have accused him of teasing but actually, the higher up he climbed, the more tension drained from her shoulders and her spine, and she slipped back onto the bed-sheets, her hands sliding from his neck. She felt impossibly relaxed, so relaxed it was easy and natural to feel his fingertips dip between her folds.

Corinne moaned, and Thongvor turned his head to press a hot kiss to her inner thigh.

"Not falling asleep on me, are you?" he asked.

"Mmm, no," she agreed. "Are you stopping there?"

"How can I?" asked Thongvor. "My debt hasn't been discharged."

"Typical Silver-Blood," said Corinne, but the retort fell from her lips just as he pushed his fingers deeper into her, and she gasped, "Oh, yes!"

He hadn't been speaking idly when he talked about tasting her, she soon learned. He was happy to spread open her lower lips and lick her wet folds in a way that made her back arch and her heels kick against the bed-frame. She grabbed fistfuls of blanket in both hands, to keep from gouging into his scalp and neck with her nails. For his part, he was relentless and patient, alternating the movements of his fingers and his tongue. She tumbled closer and closer to the edge of bliss, and she couldn't tell whether it had happened nearly instantly, or whether it was taking forever. An hour or a minute, she was wound and ready to fire, and when her climax hit her it washed over her in a great wave, leaving her heavy-limbed and slick with sweat, panting in a tangle of sheets.

"Ah, sweet Dibella," she sighed. "I could get used to that."

Thongvor laughed, but there was a depth and darkness to his amusement. "Can you take another one?"

"I won't abandon you to your agony," she replied, "but give me a moment to catch my breath."

He lay down beside her and pulled her against his chest, and she turned on her side to rest her head in the crook of his neck. For a long moment, he only ran his fingers up and down her back in long, soothing strokes, while her breath and heartbeat settled. Curling against his side, she burrowed her face into the side of his neck and dragged her hand down his chest. She could feel as much as hear the rumble of a low moan, still caught in his throat.

"You're a menace, do you know that?" he said, his voice low and rough.

"Is this what you dreamed about, while I was away?" she asked.

"Corinne," he groaned.

He ground against her, pinning her hands above her head, and catching her mouth in a heated kiss. She gave a token struggle, tugging her wrists against his stern grip, but at the same time, she felt her back arch off the bed, pressing her closer to him. Her earlier climax had, if anything, made her more eager than before, and she made a needy little sound in the back of her throat when he rubbed against her.

"Oh, let me go!" she said. "I need--"

"What?" he asked. "What do you need?"

She pulled against his grip and he released her hand, which she immediately darted down to press against his erection.

"You're still half-dressed," she said accusingly. "That's very much not in the spirit of things. I was expecting better of you, frankly."

He opened his mouth to retort and she ground the heel of her palm against him quite deliberately until all he could do is moan raggedly.

"Wicked girl," he said, panting. "Are you trying to torture me?"

"You almost sent my soul flying out of my body with your tongue, not ten minutes ago," she replied. "Turnabout is fair play."

Thongvor laughed, but it was a ragged and needy sound, which dissolved into a raw moan when Corinne slipped her hand into his trousers and wrapped it around the base of his cock. She took pity on him, then, and helped him free of the constraining fabric and lace. She stroked him once, running her thumb over the slick head, and watched his eyes close and his lips part, panting.

She licked her lips. "Do you want me to keep going, or..."

"No," he said. "I want to feel your legs wrapped around me when I come inside you."

Corinne smiled indulgently and released him, bringing her hand up to her mouth to lick her thumb. She knew the taste of him already, so now they were even, at least in that respect. Spreading her legs wider, she angled her hips just so, while he replaced her hand with his own, a look of intense concentration settling on his face. She smiled again and bit her lip, watching, digging her heel into the mattress for support. His look of concentration held, all the while he was sliding slowly into her, stretching her, sending jolts of sensation racing to the tips of her fingers and toes.

She threw her arms around his neck and said, "Keep going. Oh, don't stop."

He didn't stop until she'd taken all that she could, and was whimpering softly at the feeling of fullness. Braced on one arm, he pressed close to kiss her neck, his breath hot against her skin.

"Enough?" he asked, the words grazing her ear, half-sound, half-feeling.

"I can take it," she promised.

"Then wrap your legs around me," he said. "Please."

The sound of his voice dropping when he said the simple word _please_ was enough to make her toes curl all over again. She didn't hesitate when she hooked one heel behind his knee, and then the other. He moaned into the folds of her neck, his free hand skimming down her side and grazing her breast before digging his fingers into her thigh. When he began to move, she threw back her head and cried out.

"Ah, what a sweet sound," he murmured. "Can you do it again?"

"Don't--" Her voice hitched on the single word and she dug her fingernails deep into his back.

"Don't stop?" he asked and, with a monumental effort, marshaled the last of his self-control to slow down his thrusts to small, shallow movements.

Corinne whined, deep in her throat.

He moved his hand from her thigh to her chest, palming one breast and teasing the peaked nipple with his thumb. In response, she arched her back, leaning into his touch, pressing against the light skim of his hand. She had lost all patience. If before she had been sure that once was enough for her, now she was already so close to her second climax that the thought of giving it up was unbearable. She had no right to expect or demand it, but still, she wanted more.

"How can you be so patient?" she asked crossly. "I'm wound as tight as a spring, and you look like you could go on like this indefinitely."

Thongvor laughed, his head sinking against her shoulder. "A clever illusion. I could fall apart at any moment."

"Do it, then," she dared him.

He nuzzled her neck and whispered, "I want to make it last."

It didn't occur to her until later -- when her reasoning mind was starting to put itself back together again from its impairment -- what he'd meant by that. Evidently, Thongvor had taken her words about being often absent to heart, and he was now prepared to assume that she might leave at a moment's notice. He didn't want to leave anything for later that might be done now. What if she left, and never returned? Corinne didn't like to think of such an eventuality, but she couldn't fault his reasoning. The odds were certainly against them.

But none of these thoughts were suitable for a warm summer night, for a woman curled up cozily in her new husband's arms, in the comfort of by far the nicest bed she'd ever slept in. Thongvor was stretched out beside her, his considerable height taking up most, but not all of the bed's length. He was already dozing off, eyes fluttering shut, smiling contentedly. His arm around her waist grew lax as he drifted off to sleep. The slow rise and fall of his chest under her cheek lulled her, smoothing away any unpleasant thoughts of an uncertain future. It was not long before she, too, slipped into the warm, sweet darkness of a peaceful summer night.

***

Thongvor was first to wake, the next morning. He was disoriented to start with, although a week ago he would have sworn that he was finally used to his new living arrangements. But now the arrangement had changed again, at least temporarily. He stretched, and his arm grazed warm skin. Corinne grumbled softly in her sleep and rolled over, turning her back to him.

He watched her for a moment, just to make certain that he hadn't disrupted her morning sleep. It was early yet, but he would be expected in the throne room all the same, wedding night or no. But Corinne had been on the road ceaselessly for a year or longer, and he hadn't missed the signs of how tired she was. Although she tried to hide it, Thongvor knew that she needed a morning’s sleep right now much more than he needed her company. He slipped out from among the bed-covers and tucked them more securely around her, before turning to the wardrobe to prepare for his day.

Later, he would leave instructions to the keep's staff not to interrupt her unless she asked for something. She would come see him when she'd rested, hopefully.

With a sigh, he pulled open the doors of the nearest wardrobe and started looking for something to wear. The affairs of the hold wouldn't wait for him, and the work was too important to entrust to anyone else. In the evening, when the Keep's gates closed to the public, and his day's work was done, he could do as he pleased again. And Thongvor had to admit that he would much rather spend his free hours with Corinne than with anyone else.


	23. The Roads of Hjaalmarch

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Corinne receives a summons from the Stormcloaks.

They had several days of peace and blissful domesticity -- if such a thing could be said about living in an ancient stone citadel -- before the affairs of the world intruded. Corinne had managed to put it out of her mind, with the single-minded focus of one accustomed to ignoring dreadful but inevitable things, but Thongvor could not forget about it for very long. He had anticipated the message from Windhelm. She had told him it was just a matter of time before her orders came in, although neither of them had expected those orders to arrive in the hands of a breathless courier.

"Do you think he ran all the way from the Palace of the Kings?" asked Corinne as she cracked the seal with her pocket-knife.

"Not even Ulfric is unreasonable enough to expect that," replied Thongvor.

"You're right," she said. "They must have a relay of some kind."

She scanned the folded paper and her brow furrowed.

"What is it?" he asked.

"I have a rendezvous with another agent," she said. "A pickup and a delivery."

It didn't sound like any battle he had ever fought in, but he wasn't about to question her about her secret orders. "Confidential, I assume."

"Very sensitive," she agreed, quirking a smile. "I'd better burn this."

"When are you leaving?" he asked, a sinking feeling in his gut.

Corinne sighed. "Immediately, alas. I can't delay this, not even an hour."

Thongvor nodded.

"It's a shame," she said wistfully. "I was starting to get used to being so spoiled."

"Sleeping in a bed every night is _not_ spoiled," he insisted.

"Sleeping in _your_ bed is definitely a luxury," said Corinne, smiling.

"I would be flattered," he replied, "except that I don't know if you're talking about me or about the bed."

She wound her arms around his neck and kissed his cheek. "Luckily I don't have to choose."

Before he could think to do anything in that vein, she'd let go with a theatrical sigh and turned towards their living quarters.

"I'd better pack quickly," she said. "The sooner I'm done, the sooner I can hopefully be back."

"Do you know how long it will take?" asked Thongvor, but without much hope of an answer.

She shrugged. "I'll send word when I know, or in three days. Whichever comes first."

Thongvor decided against running a mental calculation of how far she could ride in three days, and where in that radius her objective might be. "Come back safe. I imagine you won't be taking Argis with you?"

Corinne frowned. "On Stormcloak business? I don't think I ought. Besides, my errand this time will be easier to accomplish alone."

He nodded. "I won't keep you, then."

She was gone within the hour, and he was back to sitting on the Mournful Throne, caught between the city's needs on the one hand, and the demands on the Stormcloaks on the other. Reburrus was just in the process of relaying the latest set of disasters when the second courier arrived. More bad news, he'd assumed, but for once, the Divines were prepared to surprise him.

***

Corinne was still determined to avoid Dragon Bridge if at all possible, so she reluctantly made the longer journey down to Rorikstead, where she was far more welcome. She was even more reluctant not to be riding Shadowmere, but despite his superior speed, she couldn't afford to draw so much attention to herself. Instead, she had ridden the piebald that Thongvor had bought her, not just for the sake of speed but also to carry the spare sets of armor that her mission required. She was tempted to get rid of the Imperial uniform as soon as she had dispatched the courier, but she couldn't be sure she wouldn't need it again. Instead, she changed into a nice, neutral set of worn leather armor, which wouldn't get her into any trouble, and plotted a route skirting Morthal.

She had cause to regret this decision soon enough.

"You there! Citizen!"

Of all the times to be spotted by a pair of wandering Legion scouts, it had to be when she was carrying secret documents that couldn't fall into enemy hands. She had been so _careful_ , too, but apparently not careful enough. Although she avoided the major roads, and although her woodsmanship skills were not insubstantial, the patrol had still spotted her. Luckily, she had buried her precious cargo somewhere they weren't likely to search, even if they were the suspicious sort.

Sighing inwardly, Corinne stopped in her tracks and slowly turned to face the legionnaires. "I'm sorry, is something wrong?"

A tall Imperial with a bow in her hand frowned at her. "Where are you headed, citizen? The roads aren't safe in this part of Hjaalmarch."

"I was just collecting herbs," said Corinne, patting the apothecary's satchel hanging at her hip.

The legionnaires exchanged a loaded look.

"You must be far from home," said the second scout, a Dunmer. "What are you doing so far afield?"

"Collecting alchemical ingredients," she repeated patiently. "I have to go into the wilds to find all the ingredients I need, and some of the mushrooms only grow in caves."

"It's dangerous out here," cautioned the Dunmer. "This close to the border with the Reach, there are not only bandits, but the Forsworn sometimes encroach, too."

"I'm being careful," said Corinne, patting the dagger strapped to her belt. "If I see trouble, I can sneak away very quietly and report it to the next guard I see."

The Imperial harrumphed. "At least she knows what to do if she gets into trouble. What herbs could possibly be important enough to be worth all the danger?"

This, she had been prepared for. She casually opened the satchel and proferred it to them, and they both recoiled violently from the stench.

"By the Eight!" said the Imperial. "What _is_ that."

"Mushrooms," she said, steadfastly sticking to her story.

The Dunmer furrowed his brow at her. "Are you brewing poisons? That smells foul, whatever it is."

"Antidotes," she admitted. "The children in my village, they go out foraging for mushrooms to eat, no matter how many times I warn them not to. I have to be ready for the next time one of them comes home with what he insists is _just_ a stomach ache."

The Imperial laughed. "Yeah, the children in my neighborhood were the same way."

But her comrade still looked concerned. "It's not just Forsworn, either," he said. "We're close to Stormcloak territory, and you know how they feel about foreigners on their land. They might not care that you're a citizen and not a soldier."

Corinne felt a sudden stab of guilt at how earnestly worried he sounded.

"That's right," agreed the woman with a hearty nod. "There's a war going on. Now's not the time to go out on wilderness camping trips. You can buy reagents from the khajiit caravans, if they pass through your towns. Much safer."

"The war's not going to be over any time soon, though," said Corinne doubtfully.

"Oh, I wouldn't say that," said the Dunmer, cracking a smile.

"Yeah, it won't be long before we've put those damned Stormcloaks in their place," said the Imperial with a grin, before suddenly straightening her bearing and adding, "so there's no need to worry, citizen. Skyrim will be safe for travel again before you know it."

"Well," said Corinne, "thank you very much for your kind concern, but I really need to be on my way if I don't want to spend the night in a cave."

That seemed to be enough to shake them, and they both looked up at the sky and exchanged a few quiet words, before releasing her and moving on down the road. Corinne breathed a sigh of relief and redoubled her attention for any sound out of place. She could repeat the act a second time if she had to, but her heart was thumping and she didn't think she could take the stress much longer. No, it was better if she could make it to camp as soon as possible. Someone had to relieve her of the stolen documents buried under all those aromatic fungi and replace them with the decoy for the second stage of her mission. She had hours of walking yet ahead of her.

Her vigilance paid off, although not in the way she'd expected it to. She'd bypassed the mines and was halfway down the road to Mzinchaleft when she heard a thunderous roar tear through the sky. With a sinking feeling, she raised her eyes and saw a shadow wheeling over the approximate location of the Stormcloak camp she was searching for. Her heart skipped a beat, and she tried to convince herself that she wasn't seeing what she knew she was seeing. But when the wheeling shadow spat forth a torrent of flames, there was nothing she could do but kick her heels and try to spur her horse to bring it as close as its equine nerves would allow.

When she got closer, her eyes strengthened the evidence of her ears and the gut instinct that was getting quite a lot of exercise, lately. A dragon was attacking the camp. She thought she could see arrows sticking out of its flank and wing, so the Stormcloaks were at least putting up a decent fight, but they needed her, and soon. She tied her mount's reins hastily to the nearest tree branch and took off up the hill at a sprint. All she knew for certain was that she had to get within Shouting distance as soon as possible.

**_JOOR ZAH FRUL!_**

The dragon careened, landing heavily on the side of the hill. Its next fiery attack drowned out the scattered cheers of the soldiers. It whipped its tail, uprooting several trees, and snapped at targets too far to see. She unsheathed her sword just as she saw the dragon throw back its serpentine neck and send a dark blotch flying through the air, and screams followed in its wake. Corinne ran until the breath burned in her lungs, charging right at the beast's flank. In the back of her throat, another Shout bubbled, begging to flood out of her mouth and make her enemy suffer. She drew a deep breath that tasted of smoke and snow, and willed her mind to focus.

She cast a razor-sharp bolt of ice that bit deep into the dragon's scales, and finally drew the creature's attention away from the staggering soldiers and towards her. Its eyes lit up, filled with malevolent intent, and it stalked towards her. Though still land-bound by her Shout, its claws were sharp as swords, crushing stones to rubble and digging deep furrows in the earth beneath. It snapped its jaws at her, and she dodged.

"Dovahkiin!" it cried out.

"Yes, that's my name," said Corinne, trying to pretend like her lungs weren't still burning. "What's yours? It's rude to fight without introducing yourself."

The dragon threw back its head and roared in a way that felt horribly, impossibly like laughter. "Kronnolviik. Will we have battle now, Dovahkiin, or will you disgrace the blood of the father?"

"Well, you'll not be coming back from _this_ defeat," said Corinne and, raising Dragonbane, let loose a Shout.

Her limbs flew like she was made of wind and not flesh, swift, insubstantial and deadly. She struck and dodged, casting a cloak of ice around herself between breaths. When she slid under the creature's belly to bury her blade deep in its gut, she knew that the fight was all but over. Almost disappointingly short, despite all of the dragon's previous bluster. All she had to do was wait for the light to emanate and confirm her certainty.

She rolled out from under Kronnolviik's belly just in time to avoid being crushed by his fall, and threw her arm over her eyes, waiting out the storm of light. For a moment all was light and dark, dancing spots and a pounding pain behind her eyes. Then the world focused around her, narrowing to the hard ground under her body and the sound of voices growing nearer.

"Corinne? Is that you?"


	24. Sending a Message

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Corinne meets with Galmar and runs a secretive errand.

"Corinne? Is that you?"

She snorted, and almost swallowed a mouthful of dirt.

"Right, stupid question. Who else would it be?"

With difficulty, she rolled over and looked up into the clear blue summer sky. "Hi," she said, weakly.

Ralof knelt beside her. "You dropped your sword," he said. "Do you need a hand getting up?"

"Please," said Corinne and coughed, spitting out a mouthful of saliva and dust.

She wavered a little once she was on her feet, but managed to remain standing. Ralof was looking at her worriedly, so she smiled at him reassuringly. At least, she hoped it was a reassuring smile, but a gut feeling told her she might have been wrong.

"Let's get you into a tent," he suggested, offering her his arm to lean on.

Corinne shook her head. "I'm fine. I can get to camp on my own. But I left my horse a ways down the road, and he's carrying some important cargo. Could you..."

"Don't even worry about it," he promised and took off at a run in the direction she'd pointed at.

She shook her head and picked up Dragonbane, sliding it back into its sheath. She was so glad that she hadn't taken one of her other swords, even if it had felt a little like tempting fate to carry such a weapon on a mission like the one she was on. She still had her dagger, anyway, and an array of spells at her disposal besides. But this was no time for reflection, she decided, bypassing the dragon skeleton to trudge up the hill to where she could see several Stormcloaks congregating, a safe distance away.

Awed whispers followed her, but she was used to that. These were sons and daughters of Skyrim, the sort that had been raised on traditional values and tales of the good old days. It was no surprise if they were a little over-awed at seeing a dragon's demise, and from such a close distance. Most people went their whole lives without seeing anything half so outlandish. So she would simply have to forgive them -- no matter how tired she was -- if they were all standing around gape-mouthed--

No, not all.

Among the small crowd, two stood out. One kneeling in the mud, her face in her hands, and the other sprawled beside her, lying prone on a dark, shallow stain.

"It got Oddun," murmured one of the Stormcloaks as she was passing through them.

Corinne stopped and looked down at Oddun's shattered body and the pool of dark blood that was already soaking into the ground. The girl beside him looked up at her, eyes red-rimmed but dry. She didn't say a word, though, and after a moment her head dropped down again and her shoulders shook. One of the other soldiers knelt down on one knee beside her and rested a hand on her arm. Corinne looked at them and then away, and resumed her slow shuffle towards the camp's command tent.

Galmar was waiting for her in the commander's tent, along with the officer in charge of the camp, who introduced himself by a name that she didn't quite catch. Most of what he said didn't make it past the fog clouding her mind. She sat down heavily in one of the empty chairs and accepted the bottle of mead that was offered to her. No, she wasn't injured. Yes, the dragon was dead. She tried to focus her thoughts.

"...the documents?"

Corinne shook her head, "I have them here," she said, and reached for the satchel at her side. "Wait, no. I left them with my horse. Ralof will have them."

"Excellent," said Galmar with obvious satisfaction. "Well done."

"Once we've deciphered the documents, we'll be able to begin work forging the false orders," said the second officer. "We'll need you to deliver them to the commander of the Legion in Hjaalmarch, who resides in Morthal."

Corinne opened her mouth to respond, but before she could get a word in, a middle-aged woman with graying ginger hair had stormed into the tent, letting the tent-flap fall closed behind her. She shot Galmar a glare that could wither fresh spring blossoms, her arms crossed over her chest. When she turned to offer the same kind treatment to the local commander, her eyes fell on Corinne and her face softened so abruptly that Corinne felt a bit dizzy.

"How are you feeling, my dear? Not injured, I hope. Oh, but you must let me look you over, even if you're quite certain that you aren't hurt at all." The woman smiled warmly at her, her torrent of words not slowing down in the least.

"Corinne Snow-Hammer," said Galmar wearily, "allow me to introduce our battle-maiden, Elwyn the Returned."

Elwyn shot him another glare over her shoulder, before turning back to regard Corinne with a maternally proprietary gaze. "You're my patient until I pronounce you healed," she said confidently, "so don't let the mean old men send you out into the field before you've had a chance to rest, all right?"

"I'm not _mean_ , Ellie," said Galmar in tones of profound irritation. "I happen to be fighting a war, you know."

"Right," said Elwyn, "and I'm here to keep you from doing anything too damnably foolish while you do. All right, dear?"

"All... right," said Corinne slowly, growing more and more confused.

"Come with me, then," said the healer, taking her by the arm. "We'll get you to the healers' tent and get that armor off of you. Then we can see how bad the damage is. Honestly, the nerve of these men, sending a soldier out to battle right after she defeated a dragon, almost single-handedly."

"That's... not _quite_ how it happened," said Corinne weakly.

But Elwyn wasn't really listening, and she had to admit, she wasn't quite sure how badly bruised she was, under her scaled cuirass. She'd only narrowly avoided the dragon's carcass crushing her, after all. Maybe it wouldn't be such a bad idea to take a brief rest, just to make sure that she was healing properly, and if her mother or Asta were here, they'd undoubtedly scold her to do exactly that.

So would Thongvor, probably. That last thought occurred to her so suddenly that she stopped short in her tracks, just a few paces from the healers' tent.

"Everything all right, dear?" asked Elwyn.

Corinne shook her head. "Just thinking about someone I left back home."

The healer smiled knowingly. "That's good. Soldiers who had sweethearts waiting for them always seem to heal more quickly from their injuries."

"Really?" asked Corinne idly. "I wonder why that is."

"I suppose it's easier to recover when you remember what you're fighting for," replied Elwyn. "Now, have a seat right here, and let me get a good look at you. Don't be shy. I promise you haven't got anything I've not seen before."

***

Her brutal defeat of the dragon Kronnolviik was too highly visible to be concealed. Every soldier in camp who didn't witness it first-hand knew all the details, and by the time she emerged from the healers' tent, the star-struck looks followed her wherever she went. When she reported Galmar, she found him discussing something in undertone with the camp commander, Arrald. They both straightened when she stepped into the tent. Arrald regarded her with something like reverence, while Galmar was frowning so tightly that his mouth had crumpled like a discarded piece of paper.

"Your first mission," said Galmar, "is to deliver the false orders as we discussed. Once the forged documents have reached their destination, it's only a matter of days before we launch our assault on Fort Snowhawk, and when we're in possession of the fort, the hold will be ours."

"I see," said Corinne.

"Arrald has requested your presence for the attack on Fort Snowhawk," he went on. "He believes your presence will have a fortifying effect on the soldiers' morale."

Corinne thought this over quickly. "If there's anything I can do to hasten the war's end, and reassure Vignar Grey-Mane, I really think I must do it."

Arrald smiled. "I'm glad you see it that way, Dragonborn."

"I can set out for Morthal when it's nearer to falling dark," said Corinne. "I expect I'm to report back here to prepare for the siege?"

"As soon as possible," replied Galmar.

"I do have people expecting me elsewhere," she said thoughtfully. "I had best send word that I'll be delayed, but then, it would be better to do that from Morthal itself."

***

Stonehills was a small and sleepy mining town on the road from Dawnstar to Morthal. Neither of these cities being exactly a bustling metropolis, the town lacked any of the amenities that a traveler could hope for. Its main significance was in its iron mines, which had for years provided iron ore to the Imperial Legion, and a steady income to their owner, Thane Bryling of Solitude. The effect of the civil war was twofold, increasing demand at the same time as it made delivery of goods slower, costlier, and more complicated.

Though the denizens of Stonehills did not yet know it, that complication was only going to increase once Morthal fell into Stormcloak hands.

Corinne, therefore, was obliged to take advantage of this last opportunity to pass a discreet message behind enemy lines.

She had no sooner crossed the town's perimeter than she heard a cackling voice call out to her.

"You, there, young miss! Are you lost? If you're looking for Morthal, it's a good half a day's ride west down that road."

Corinne turned to look for the voice's owner, and spotted a woman with graying blonde hair, sitting on the porch of a small wooden cabin and braiding a basket full of garlic bulbs.

"Excuse me, were you speaking to me?" asked Corinne.

"Who else?" said the woman, cackling. "I don't see any other strangers around here. Not much call for visiting the mines unless you're the foreman, and she's down in the tunnels. Name's Argi. What are you doing in Stonehills, stranger?"

"Looking for the foreman, actually," replied Corinne.

"Well, you'll not find her," said Argi, "but if you can bring your business to her man, Pactur, you'll find him near the foreman's house or at the smelter, this time of day."

"Thank you," said Corinne. "If it's not too much trouble, could you direct me to the foreman's house?"

"Take the path down to the mine entrance, then turn right," said Argi. "Good travels, stranger."

"Keep safe, Argi," she replied. "These are dangerous times."

She found the foreman's house without much difficulty, and a middle-aged Nord man chopping firewood out by the front porch.

"Excuse me," said Corinne, "are you the foreman?"

The man stopped his chopping and leaned on the axe's handle, looking her over. "No, that would be my wife, Sorli. Who's asking?"

"I have a message for the mine's owners," she said.

He shook his head. "We manage the mine, but Rockwallow's deed is owned by Lady Bryling. If you're looking for her, whoever you are, you should be looking up in Solitude, not down here in Hjaalmarch."

"The message I have to pass along is rather... delicate," said Corinne softly. "Could we possibly have a word or two, somewhere more private?"

The man frowned but nodded tightly. "Come into the house."

She followed him to the house, where he set bread, cheese, and ale on the table, and took a seat opposite her. She elected to politely decline any repast and move straight to business. She did have to get to Morthal before dark to pass on the false documents, even disregarding her more clandestine business for the Brotherhood. It was best not to beat around the bush.

"I have a message for Lady Bryling," she said. "Due to circumstances, I'm prevented from passing it on to her directly."

 _Circumstances_ was universally understood in Skyrim to mean _the war_.

"I see," said Pactur, looking more than a little skeptical.

"As the manager of her property, I imagine you have the opportunity to pass all sorts of papers and documents to her," said Corinne. "Would it be that much of a hardship to attach an extra note to one of those paper parcels, really?"

"A note from who, exactly?" asked Pactur. "You still haven't told me who you are."

She waved a hand dismissively. "My identity is unimportant. I'm only the messenger. The message is... from a friend. Someone who has Lady Bryling's best interests at heart, and wishes to foster cooperation."

Pactur sighed deeply, holding out his hand. "Hand me the note, then."

"My employers would prefer if the message arrived in your own handwriting," she replied, "if that's not too much trouble."

"It's getting to be a fair bit of trouble, miss," he said, but he got up to fetch ink and paper all the same.

"Excellent," said Corinne, smiling brightly. "I'm sure my employer and yours will both be very grateful for your services."


	25. Unsent Letters

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Corinne returns to Markarth and finds a surprise visitor.

Corinne finished cleaning the blood off her blade and sheathed it, leaning heavily against a stone column. "I liked this place better when it was infested with creaking skeletons. At least I could set those on fire, and they'd go down as easy as anything."

"Well, the fort is ours," said Galmar gruffly, "and Morthal's soon to follow. Ravencrone is many things, but she isn't a fool. She'll do the smart thing and surrender."

"That's eight out of nine," said Corinne unnecessarily.

Galmar glanced at her sidelong. "We're not running from here straight to Solitude, you know. You'll get your next orders when the time is right. I'll ride back to Windhelm and report the victory to Jarl Ulfric if you'd rather head back to Markarth."

"I would," she admitted. "I won't have very many free days, I know that, but if I have some time to myself..."

Galmar snorted. "Any newlywed would so the same, or did you think we hadn't heard about that small detail?"

"I'll admit I wasn't certain how far the news had spread," she said. "We didn't exactly advertise it."

"You took us by surprise, Dragonborn," said Galmar. "Ulfric more than me, to be honest. I told him months ago that he should be keeping you close in Windhelm, but he had other priorities."

Corinne struggled to process what this might mean. "Well, Markarth is still in Skyrim," she said finally. "I'm hardly defecting."

"True, true," he said. "As long as you stay in Skyrim, Ulfric will be satisfied."

"If we manage to liberate Haafingar," she pointed out.

"We have the strategic advantage," said Galmar. "We surround them on all sides, and their walls won't protect them for long. Not against ballistae and siege engines. When Solitude is burning, they'll be piling into their ships and fleeing to Jehanna, mark my words."

Corinne nodded, deep in thought. "I'll be riding west first thing tomorrow morning, then, unless you want me present when you take the hold capital."

"That won't be necessary, Dragonborn," said Galmar. "You'll have your orders soon enough."

***

With her contract to the Brotherhood fulfilled, and her duties to the Stormcloaks discharged for the moment, Corinne rode back to Markarth. This time, she managed to evade any uncomfortable encounters with Imperial patrols, and even the Forsworn encampments were more quiet than usual. It was an uneventful ride, and Corinne was glad of it. She was looking forward to a few nice, boring days of peace and quiet while she waited for her marching orders. Maybe she could find the time to write a letter to her mother, in Daggerfall, though Tava only knew what she would put in it.

_Dear mother and Danilia,_

_I have been declared the savior of the Nord people by a group of old men living on a mountain. In between bouts of competitive dragon-slaying, I joined the Nord militia rebelling against the Mede empire and became a master assassin. When I'm not communing with the spirit of Satakal, I like to do a spot of grave-robbing. Oh, and by the way, I got married._

_How's the garden been? Lovely weather we're having, isn't it?_

_All my love,_

_Your daughter, Corinne._

She snorted. There was no way she could send her mother a letter to that effect, no matter how diplomatically she phrased it. Saffine had not been pleased to see her daughter become a bounty hunter, and her life now was several times more dangerous. Everyone from the Thalmor to the Imperial Legion was baying for her blood. It was best if her mother knew as few details as possible, and whatever rumors of the current state of affairs made it out of Skyrim's borders, the non-Nords were likely to treat with a healthy dose of skepticism. Bretons in particular were prone to making jesting remarks about the robustness of the Nord imagination.

These thoughts occupied her uneventful ride until at last, she was climbing the approach to the city. She waved to the pair of Stormcloaks on guard duty as they opened the massive gates for her to enter, but neither of them waved back. It was still early enough in the day that the market was bustling, although it was late summer, and the nights were beginning to fall earlier and earlier. Corinne stopped briefly and looked over the busy square with a kind of proprietary pride that surprised her. She hadn't realized how much she'd come to think of the city as her own, not when five years of living in Evermore had failed to have the same effect.

But it was late, and she was tired. Too tired for musings about her place in the grand fabric of things, and rather much more in the mood for a warm bath, a warm meal, and a warm bed -- in some sort of order. She circled wide around the busy marketplace and made directly for the stairs to Understone Keep. Hopefully, Argis could fill her in on everything that went on in the city during her absence.

When she walked past the hewn passageway that led to the once-hidden Shrine of Talos, she hesitated for a moment or two. A niggling thought occurred to her that she ought to be giving thanks to someone for her survival, even through Skyrim's many dangers. She supposed her primary allegiance was to Sithis, but she couldn't think of the Dread Father as the sort of deity whom one thanked after a victorious battle. If she'd been in Solitude, she might have prayed at Akatosh's altar at the Temple of the Divines, but here in Markarth, her choice was between Talos and Dibella. One hardly associated the Blessed Lady with the rigors of battle, whether against dragons or against enemy soldiers.

She remained thus deep in thought until two figures emerged from the shrine's hall to find her standing there idly. The first was her husband, and the second was an unfamiliar woman. She wore hooded robes which might have once been blue before sun, rain, and dust had worn them to a soft greyish color. Her face was lined and weathered, but her honey-brown eyes held a youthful energy, powerful and radiant. She was walking arm-in-arm with Thongvor, and the two of them were chatting comfortably until first her eyes focused on the other woman in her path, and she greeted her with a puzzled smile.

"How may I help you, daughter?" she asked.

Corinne froze for only the briefest moment, but it felt like an eternity. At last, she broke free of her stupor and, smiling, extended her hand to the stranger. "Corinne af-Umasa. A pleasure to meet you."

The hooded woman looked from Corinne to Thongvor and back, and her smile turned sly. "Ah, I see. I've heard a great deal about you, these past few days."

"I wasn't gone that long!" protested Corinne.

Thongvor cleared his throat. "Corinne, please allow me to introduce Elske Wild-Water. She's going to be tending the Shrine of Talos, from now on."

"Now, then," said Elske, "I haven't agreed to that, just yet."

"What, exactly, happened while I was out in the field?" asked Corinne.

"We received several curious messages," said Thongvor. "Come back to the Keep. We can talk there. Have you eaten or rested, yet?"

"I just rode into the city," she admitted. "I'm actually famished."

"Good, Maryanne will be delighted," said Thongvor. "Elske, will you join my wife and me for dinner?"

"I'd like nothing better," said the priestess, her honeyed eyes bright with mischief.

"It sounds like you have a lot to catch me up on," said Corinne.

"Oh, you have no idea," he replied.

***

Once they got to Understone Keep, Corinne stripped off her armor in record time and washed up quickly to slip on one of her old dresses and emerge into a dining room aromatic with mouth-watering smells. Maryanne was ladling soup, while Thongvor and Elske chatted quietly, their heads close together. When she stepped into the room, he straightened abruptly and turned towards her. Corinne smiled and took a seat beside him.

"I understand there's been fighting recently in Hjaalmarch, and you were there," said Elske, leaning forward to see her better.

Corinne sipped the wine that had been set before her. "Yes, I'm just back from Morthal now."

Elske nodded. "That's good. I had relatives in that area, back in the day. I wonder whether any of them still live there."

"You were gone a long time, Elske," said Thongvor.

She smiled. "That I was, but it seems like you used the time well. Soon, Skyrim will be free again."

"Yes," said Thongvor. "Soon."

"Hjaalmarch is a small and weak hold," said Corinne. "I'm concerned that the fight for Haafingar will be much more difficult."

"Undoubtedly," said Elske, "but all the same, we are closer to achieving our independence than we have been in years, and I'm glad to see that you've taken your part in that."

Elske, it seemed, saw no reason to question why Corinne would fight for Skyrim although she wasn't herself a Nord. Perhaps she thought she fought on her husband's behalf. If so, Corinne didn't feel a pressing need to correct her. She would learn better, soon enough.

"All the same," she said, "I hope to have some time to rest and prepare before I receive my next orders."

"You're next to Solitude, you think?" asked Thongvor.

"Or the region," she replied, "unless the Legion manages to take back part of the Pale, or word arrives from Whiterun, first."

"Word _has_ arrived from Whiterun," said Reburrus, who had until then been conspicuously silent.

"What?" asked Corinne, alarmed. "When? From whom?"

"We received several curious letters while you were gone, Corinne," said Thongvor. "One of them was from Vignar's niece, the one he has acting as his housecarl."

"Olfina," supplied Reburrus, always better-informed on such things.

"There was another letter from Whiterun," Thongvor forged on, grimacing, "but it had your name on it, so of course I didn't open it."

"It can't have been urgent, or whoever it was would have sent a courier after me," said Corinne. "I don't know what you feed those couriers, here in Skyrim, but they're diabolically persistent. You wouldn't believe half the places where I've been cornered by one of those."

Thongvor cleared his throat. "You can open those after dinner, or tomorrow if you feel they can wait, but there was one other letter that I thought you should know about."

"Who from?" asked Corinne with mounting curiosity.

"The Prince of Dragonstar," said Reburrus.

"Oh," said Corinne. "Oh, how _interesting_. I assume it was addressed to you, Thongvor. What did he want?"

"He offered greetings on my recent ascension to the Mournful Throne," he replied, "and suggested that our representatives might meet to discuss mutual trade interests."

She considered this carefully as she sipped her wine. "No mention of Ulfric, or the war?"

"Not directly, no," said Thongvor. "I did get the impression that he anticipated our victory, but I couldn't say why."

"If you don't mind, I'd like to read that one, too," she said. "Tomorrow. That will be soon enough. But I'm interested in his exact words."

He nodded. "We'll discuss it in the morning."

"Still, it presents some rather intriguing possibilities, don't you think?" she said and allowed herself a bright smile.

Thongvor, who knew well of her notions and plans for Skyrim's future, nodded and frowned. "We have a great deal to discuss and to plan for."

"But not tonight," she reminded him. "I only just rode into town an hour ago."

He smiled, "Yes, you've earned your rest."


	26. Homecoming

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Corinne has an earnest conversation with Elske.

With some good food and wine in her, Corinne realized that she was more tired than she'd reckoned on. Once the main dishes had been cleared away, she decided to leave the other guests to their conversation and retire early. She'd been longing for a hot soak the whole ride through the wilds of the Reach, and now nothing stood between her and spending a good half-hour up to her chin in water as hot as she could stand. Since she'd had the foresight to inform the servants of her intentions before dinner, a full basin of hot water was waiting for her in the bedroom when she retired.

She came very close to dozing off in the hot water a few times but managed to rally enough to scrub the last of the road dust off of her skin and swathe herself in a length of soft, plush cotton. She padded barefoot across the bedroom, leaving faint damp footprints on the stone floor that would soon evaporate. On the dais by the bed was a whole rank of wardrobes that was dedicated to her use, though there was no way that her few belongings could fill even a quarter of the space. Curiously, Corinne pulled open one of them. Several sets of court robes in different colors were hanging inside, and pairs of shoes too fine for her usual rough lifestyle were arranged on the floor beneath them. She ran a finger along one robe's soft fur trim. Very like Nord fashion to be as practical as it was extravagant, she thought.

The soft tap of footsteps behind her alerted her to Thongvor's approach just before he came up behind her and put his arms around her waist, resting his forehead on her shoulder.

He pressed his mouth to her ear and said, "I'm so glad you made it back safely."

Corinne closed her eyes and smiled, leaning back against him. "Were you worried for my safety?" she asked. "That's very sweet, but you must know that I know how to take care of myself."

"As your husband, it's my prerogative to worry," he replied.

"I was surrounded by other Stormcloaks," she said. "Galmar Stone-Fist was there. You've seen him fight, you know what he can do. I couldn't be safer."

"All the same," he insisted, "I'm glad that you're able to stay in the city for a little bit."

"Mmm," she said. "How about you release me long enough for me to find something to wear?"

He pretended to consider this. "Hmm, I'm not sure I see how that's in my best interest."

Corinne laughed. "I do need to get some sleep, eventually," she said. "I almost fell asleep in the bathtub, earlier. How about you let me go now, and I'll make it up to you tomorrow morning?"

He slid his hands down to her waist and spun her around, and she tipped her head back, waiting for his kiss, but saw him frowning, instead. He raised his hand to cup her cheek, and she leaned into the warmth of his palm.

"What's wrong?" she asked.

"Nothing," said Thongvor with a sigh, and bent down to drop a kiss on her forehead. "Get some sleep. We'll have time to catch up tomorrow morning."

***

Thongvor woke early the next morning to a dark and silent room, and the warm press of his wife's body curled against him in sleep. He smiled to himself, thinking back to that first morning when he woke up to find her sleeping in one of his old tunics, her bare leg draped over his. As much as he liked the idea, he couldn't help but think that the wife of a Jarl deserved something better and, in her absence, had made sure to fill the empty wardrobes with anything she might need. Now, Corinne was sleeping peacefully, wearing a High Rock-style nightgown trimmed with lace, her hair swathed in a brightly-colored silk scarf.

She stirred in her sleep and he stilled, hoping he hadn't woken her, but she only rolled over and burrowed her face into his shoulder. Thongvor smiled again, sneaking his arm around her, and let himself drift back to sleep.

When he next woke, he thought perhaps Corinne was still asleep. He knew well how badly she needed the rest, so he thought he'd better allow her to sleep as late as she liked. When he felt a soft, tickling touch against his skin, he turned and found her blinking sleepily up at him.

"G'morning," she said groggily.

Thongvor smiled and kissed her temple. "It's early. Are you sure you don't want to go back to sleep?"

Corinne stretched, her back arching like a cat's, then dropped back to the bed with a thump. "Didn't I make you a promise, last night?"

He sighed and closed his eyes. "Very tempting," he admitted. "We do have business to discuss, but..."

"It can wait," she murmured, trailing her hand down his chest, "just a little bit."

He groaned. "You're a terrible influence."

Straddling his waist, she leaned down to kiss his neck and whispered, "Think of it as part of a nutritious breakfast."

***

Breakfast ended up waiting quite a bit longer than he had intended, and so did business, but he couldn't regret it. They'd spent many days apart already, since their recent marriage, and would spend many more so, before the war was won. For as long as he had her, he was going to make the most of the time they had together before the endless demands of both of their positions contrived to separate them.

Thongvor knew that he was becoming too attached to Corinne, and far too quickly, but there was nothing he could do to stop it, even if he'd wished to. The seed of it had been planted inside him long ago, perhaps even on their very first meeting, and it wanted very little attention to grow and flourish. Now it was just something that he had to work around, knowing as he did that there would always be a hundred demands on her time and attention that were more urgent than his feelings for her.

Several such demands were now lying on the table between them.

"Apparently," said Corinne, scanning the letter in her hand, "Vignar is so confident of our chances of winning the war, that he's instructed his niece to start preparing Dragonsreach to serve its original function again."

"So it's a race between him and Ulfric for who will get your attention first," said Thongvor, trying to make light.

Corinne gnawed her lip. "More like, between Ulfric and the Greybeards. Vignar is only facilitating. It's the Greybeards who can teach me how to call and trap the dragon."

"What does the other one say?" asked Thongvor.

She frowned. "This one is weird. Apparently, I've developed a reputation for killing hagravens, because someone wants to contract me to wipe out a coven of witches."

"Who?" he asked, matching her frown.

"Kodlak Whitemane," she replied, handing him the letter. "He's the leader of the Companions, so I don't know why he can't just order one or two of his warriors to handle it, but apparently he wants me to do it."

"The Harbinger is not exactly the _leader_ of the Companions," said Thongvor. "More like a spiritual advisor. He doesn't hand them orders, but he _is_ a highly respected figure among them. You're right on that, it's strange that they wouldn't rather keep the honor and glory to themselves. They're warriors, after all."

"Honor, glory, and loot," added Corinne. "Maybe there's more to this coven, some reason why the Companions fear them. I should look into it before I send an answer, one way or another."

"Yes," he agreed. "You should be cautious. Something about this... doesn't smell right."

"What about the third letter?" she asked.

"Go ahead and read it," he said. "If you can divine something from it that Reburrus and I haven't, so much the better. Improved trade relations would be good for the city, but I can't help but suspect their timing."

Corinne smiled. "You're too suspicious for your own good, do you know that?"

He grumbled something under his breath but didn't otherwise reply.

***

Later that morning, Corinne decided to pay the Shrine of Talos a visit. Elske Wild-Water wasn't _guaranteed_ to be there, but outside of the Keep itself, it was the most probable place to find her. And find her she did, whacking away at the cobwebs that clung to the room's upper corners with a broom.

"Need a hand with that?" asked Corinne, leaning casually against the wall.

Elske paused in her work to wipe her forehead with the back of her hand. "By all means. I'm always happy to see adherents perform more direct devotional work."

Corinne laughed and scrounged around the barren room for something that she could employ as a duster.

They worked together in companionable silence for a short while, before Elske asked, "What brings you to the Shrine of Talos today, Corinne?"

"Aside from my lust for housework tasks, you mean?" replied Corinne with a mischievous smile.

"Aside from that," the priestess agreed. "I expected Thongvor, and several others that I've seen about--" she said, carefully not naming any names-- "but in our short acquaintance, I didn't get the impression that you were especially devout. If you'll forgive me for saying so."

"Nothing to forgive," said Corinne airily. "It's true. I've never been one to turn to religion in troubled times, not even after Helgen." She glanced at Elske sidelong for signs of recognition.

"Yes, Thongvor caught me up on some of the news from the past year," said Elske grimly, "and I picked up the rest of it at the marketplace and the inn."

"Both excellent places to learn gossip," agreed Corinne.

"But I imagine the events of Helgen have more significance for you than just another brush with death," said Elske, assuming a tone of voice that was familiar to Corinne from every other interaction she'd ever had with priests. "It was about a year ago that you learned you were Dragonborn, wasn't it?"

"Almost to the day," said Corinne, nodding. "I hadn't been planning to mark the occasion, you know. I'd rather spend my time and energy on the good things that happened during this past year."

"Like your wedding?" asked Elske with a small smile.

Corinne couldn't help but smile herself. "Yes, that was a happy occasion. Although I'll admit, if you'd told me a year ago that I'd be getting married, I don't think I would have believed it. It's not like I haven't had offers before."

"You were waiting for the right person?" asked Elske.

She shrugged. "The right person? The right circumstances? Probably both."

"Well, whichever one it is, I'm glad you found them," said Elske.

Corinne smiled. "So am I."

"Corinne," said Elske.

"Hmm?" she replied.

"You still haven't told me why you came to the shrine," the priestess pointed out.

"Ah," said Corinne. "You're right."

"Well?" she asked.

"I was curious," said Corinne simply.

"Not about Talos, I take it," said Elske, amused.

"About you," admitted Corinne. "Thongvor told me very little about you, and most of it was hearsay. What made you leave the city? Where did you go? Where have you been all these years and what made you come back?"

"I've been living deep in the mountains, near the High Rock border," said Elske. "Imperial patrols from either province rarely climb that high, so I thought I would be safe there. And I was, for a time."

"For a time?" asked Corinne.

She smiled bitterly. "I had to keep moving, to stay one step ahead of them. I never planned to stay so far away from civilization for so long, but once I was out in the wild, well..." She sighed. "Some things happened that complicated the situation, and suddenly I had more than one reason to stay away."

Corinne thought about Solitude, and nodded slowly. "What made you come back?"

"He didn't realize that was what he was doing at the time," said Elske, smiling knowingly, "but it was Thongvor who summoned me. Rather, word got out that Markarth was in Stormcloak hands, and that the new Jarl was looking for a Priest of Talos."

"And that rumor somehow reached you, even that deep into the wilds?" asked Corinne skeptically.

"Oh, I wasn't a complete hermit, you know," said Elske. "It's very difficult to survive alone in the wilds. Those of us who live -- _lived_ \-- in the deep mountains often exchange news as well as trade-goods."

"I have to admit to some curiosity," said Corinne tentatively, "about who voluntarily lives such an isolated existence as you did, without having your circumstances."

"Oh, I imagine a few of them were fugitives like me," said Elske blithely, "although I never felt the need to ask about their crimes. No one ever asked me any questions, and I felt I ought to return the favor."

Corinne had certain suspicions, but she felt that she should keep them to herself until the time was ripe for answers. "Well, I'm glad you're back in Markarth again, now that the city is secure," she said instead. "I know it would be a great relief to Thongvor, if you stayed."

"And you?" asked Elske with a smile.

"I still have to spend a lot of time on the road," replied Corinne, sighing deeply. "Even now, I'm not sure how much time I'll have before I have to hit the road again. There are always a thousand and one things to do, you know?"

She nodded sympathetically.

"Speaking of which," said Corinne, getting up and dusting her hands on her thighs, "I do have to go see Thonar at the Treasury House about some business."

"And I have to prepare the shrine to receive visitors," said Elske.

"I'll come by again later if you still need help," she promised.

Elske laugh. "There you go, over-committing yourself again. I can manage a little dusting even without your noble help, Thane Corinne."

Corinne didn't take the gentle ribbing to heart. She hoped that it was done affectionately, rather than in condescension. In fact, she rather hoped that she and Elske might become friends, but her friendship with Corinne was less important in the grand scheme than her service as a priestess. She wasn't about to let personal feelings get in the way of the city's well-being, no matter what. And in a way, wasn't it best if Thongvor had someone to lean on when she wasn't around to lend a helping hand? If he could have relied on Thonar or Reburrus, surely he would have done so by now.

She was so deep in thought that she almost missed the entrance to the Treasury House.


	27. No Safer Place

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Corinne receives word from Whiterun.

The next day, more letters arrived. Corinne was in the war room, half-listening to Yuna and Thorygg discuss defense tactics against the Forsworn while she struggled with a letter to her mother. She got about halfway down the first page before she paused, looked at what she had written, and unceremoniously set it aflame with a spark from her fingertip. At that point, the harried-looking courier with his satchel full of obligations was a welcome distraction from her familial woes.

Yuna shuffled over to sit beside her as she cracked open the seal on the first letter, a sympathetic expression plastered on her face. "Anything interesting?"

"I have letters from Riften, Winterhold, and another one from Whiterun," she replied.

"I didn't know there was anyone in Winterhold to receive letters from," quipped Yuna.

"You're catching up on all the local Skyrim gossip themes," said Corinne approvingly. "That's good. Next thing we know, you'll have an opinion about the best road from Rorikstead to Dragon Bridge."

Yuna ducked her head and mumbled something indistinct.

Corinne laughed and patted her arm, but her smile faded into a frown when she looked back at the letter in her hand. "I suppose I'll have to tell Thongvor about this," she said reluctantly. "Thonar warned me yesterday that something like this might happen."

"What's wrong?" asked Yuna. "Who's it from?"

Corinne made a face. "Maven Black-Briar congratulates Jarl Thongvor on his recent marriage."

Yuna's answering frown was puzzled. "Black-Briar? Isn't that a brand of mead? Does she own a meadery?"

"Maven Black-Briar owns the largest meadery in Skyrim," replied Thorygg with a sour expression. "Lately, the _only_ meadery in Skyrim."

"The Black-Briar family is the most influential family in the Rift," Corinne elaborated. "They have connections both high and low, and they're richer than Zenithar. Maven makes the law in that family, and she likes people to know it. If she wants to _congratulate_ us, it's definitely an opening for some larger scheme."

"Oh, definitely," agreed Thorygg. "You never know what that damned woman is up to."

Corinne set the letter aside with a sigh and reached for the next one. "I have unfinished business in Winterhold, too, but it's just going to have to wait," she said. "This one is the one I've been waiting for."

She opened the letter from Whiterun, hoping against hope that it didn't say what she knew it did.

"Looks like I'll be headed to Whiterun before I go to Solitude," she said with false cheer, pasting a bright smile on her face. "Time to end this dragon nonsense, once and for all. Argis will be _thrilled_."

"You're sure Argis wouldn't rather be fighting legionnaires in Solitude?" asked Yuna.

Corinne frowned. "If it was Solitude, I would've gone alone," she said. "I was -- _advised_ \-- not to bring my housecarl to a Stormcloak siege, especially not in Haafingar. Civil war, you know."

Yuna, who had no living relatives in the province, winced. That aspect of the war hadn't touched her, yet. Whether it would in the future, Corinne was powerless to predict.

The news gave her a good excuse to abandon her futile efforts at letter-writing and instead turn her pen towards writing a reply to Olfina Grey-Mane, assuring her that she would be on the road to Whiterun as soon as humanly possible. She entrusted the finished letter to Reburrus, who in turn assured her that he would hire the fastest courier in the city to deliver it to Dragonsreach. Once that errand was complete, she collected Argis and went to visit Moth at his forge. That was where Thongvor found her, an hour past midday, when he came to fetch her for lunch, and she had the very gratifying experience of watching his expression change as he took in the armor she was wearing.

"It fits perfectly," she told Moth smugly as she slipped open a buckle to take off her right gauntlet.

"'Course it does," he replied gruffly. "I made it, didn't I?"

Thongvor seemed fit to remain dumbfounded until he turned to Argis and asked, "Am I seeing what I think I'm seeing?"

"If you think you're seeing dragon-scale, my Jarl," said Argis cheekily, "then yes. Hey, Corinne. Is Viinturuth part of your armor now?"

Corinne turned to Thongvor and smiled brilliantly. "He just wants to know if some of these scales are from a dragon that he helped to bring down," she said, "and the answer is no. Moth has been working on this armor for me for weeks, now. Long before we took down Viinturuth."

Argis looked a little disappointed, but it was hard to stay down in the presence of such magnificent craftsmanship.

"My best work yet," said Moth proudly. "Hey, thanks for letting me work with it, Corinne."

"Are you kidding?" said Corinne. "I'm the one that should be thanking you, Moth. This is the best thing I've ever owned. I need you to understand that I'm going to be buried in this armor."

"I'm glad to see that you're already making funeral plans," said Thongvor, sounding anything but glad.

Corinne blithely ignored his dismal tone and said, "Just wait until you see it with the helmet. Try to imagine Jarl Elisif's face as I walk into the Blue Palace wearing _this_." She sighed dreamily. "I wish I knew how to paint. I just know that's an image that I'll want to recall my entire life."

Argis hid a smile. "Do you need more fittings, my Thane?" he asked. "Perhaps a twirl in front of a mirror? I'm only asking because it's nearly lunchtime, and I want to know whether we're going to miss the meal."

"All right, all right," she groused. "I'm taking it off, now."

"Does this mean you'll be leaving behind the old scaled armor?" asked Argis as he helped her unbuckle the marvelous cuirass.

"I'll have Reburrus set up an extra armor mannequin for you," said Thongvor, "since it seems like you'll be needing it."

"Better make it two," suggested Corinne. "I have a few pieces of glass armor stashed around. If I gather them all in one place, it'll almost be enough to make a third suit."

"Why would you need three suits of armor?" asked Moth, while at the same time Argis said, "I can't believe you've had glass armor this whole time, and haven't worn it."

Thongvor disregarded them both and said, "Whatever other items you have _stashed_ , wherever they might be, you should bring them back here and store them in the vault. There's no safer place for your valuables than Understone Keep. It's impervious to thieves."

"Oh," said Corinne, smiling indulgently, "remind me to walk you through the Keep and show you every single lock I've picked."

Thongvor paled.

"My Jarl," said Argis hastily, "it's time for lunch, surely, isn't it? I think Thane Corinne must be hungry."

"Fawning over my beautiful new armor has been hungry work," she agreed cheerily. "Let's go eat."

***

After lunch, Corinne disappeared into the Jarl's quarters wearing a grimace on her face, to write a letter to her family, she said. Getting ready to ride out the following morning, Argis had two options for how he could spend his afternoon. He could, if so inclined, go down to the market and get all of their travel supplies sorted out, at least the things that didn't come out of the Keep's stores. Or he could put off shopping and take the time to make his goodbyes to his friends in the Keep. With the prospect of facing up against Alduin a third time weighing heavy on his heart, he decided on the latter option.

Reburrus was singularly unsocial being and known for considering mere housecarls beneath him, besides. Argis was distantly polite to him and endured his sneering with a semblance of good humor. He had a better relationship with the Jarl's housecarl, Yngvar, but they were no more than acquaintances, or drinking buddies at best. Yuna was friendly, but she was also busy with Thorygg, at the moment. Most likely he'd see her at the inn, later that night. The only one of his friends who was currently available to chat was Moth, which in itself was a little depressing.

So after lunch, Argis swung back in the direction of Moth's smithy, just in time to see his sister and her apprentice leaving after _their_ lunch. Moth was already at work on some new cuirasses for the city guard, but since he had no customers he didn't mind Argis staying to chat.

"It's nice to have company while I work, sometimes," he confided. "Thongvor used to come and visit me more often before he became Jarl, and other than my sister, I don't have many other friends in the city."

"Well, I hope you can think of me as a friend," said Argis.

"Sure," said Moth gruffly. "You and Corinne riding out tomorrow?"

"Yeah," said Argis.

"Where to?" he asked.

"Whiterun," said Argis.

"Bet you'd rather go to Solitude," said Moth with a snort. "Not that I'm much for politics, you know, but fighting soldiers has gotta be better than fighting dragons or undead or whatever else Corinne has up her sleeve, this time."

Argis winced. "I don't love fighting draugr, but I'd still rather go to Whiterun. I have family in Solitude."

"Ah," said Moth, not very sympathetically. "Well, war'll do that. If you made it this long without having to worry about it, you're doing better than most Nords, these days."

It was true, but it also didn't help him very much. "Thanks," he said, all the same. "My sister isn't a legionnaire or anything, but she does serve the Jarl of Haafinagar and, well... You know. _Every warm body_ and all that."

Moth grunted and nodded, which was as much as an eloquent speech from any other man.

They sat in companionable silence for some time while Argis watched Moth work the forge. It was soothing to track his slow, confident movements and witness chain and scale slowly come into being under his hands. After a while, though, he guiltily reminded himself that he still hadn't finished preparations for his Thane and that the market wouldn't stay open indefinitely. Reluctantly, he got up from his seat and made for the door. Moth didn't say anything, but he could tell from the way his eyes moved that he saw him leave.

Argis hesitated at the door. "If something happens while I'm gone," he said, "give all my stuff to my sister. She'll come to collect it, probably. Well, depending on how the war goes, but she'll come, sooner or later."

Moth nodded to himself and said, "I'll tell her."

***

Corinne was lively at dinner, but as soon as they were alone in their room together, her mood turned subdued. She quietly went about the business of preparing for bed, setting out her clothing for the next day, and so on. Thongvor had half-expected her to jump him as soon as he shut the door behind them, but now that thought made him feel unbearably selfish. Once again, she was riding towards an unknown destiny, with a very real prospect of never returning. Most of their brief marriage had, so far, consisted of separations like this one. He ought to have been prepared for it. She'd even warned him before they were married that she would be away more often than not.

Thongvor knew that technically, Skyrim needed Corinne more than he personally did, but the selfish part of him still wanted to hold her close and never let her go.

He sighed and turned back to the book in his hands, but his eyes kept sliding off the words on the page and back to his wife. She squeezed the last few items into her saddlebags, packed fit to burst, and leaned back on her heels with a sigh. When she felt him watching her, she looked up to meet his eyes, but said nothing.

Thongvor shut his book abruptly and stood up. "It's late," he said. "Let's go to sleep."

Corinne nodded silently and made straight for the bed. He followed, stopping only to snuff out the last candles. She curled up against him immediately, burying her face in his neck, and he could feel her lips moving against his skin, although he couldn't hear her words.

Was she praying? Corinne wasn't the religious type, surely. Then again, it was not as though Thongvor could make such a claim about her with any real confidence. He hadn't known her nearly long enough, and the briefness of their acquaintance suddenly seemed more urgent than ever.

He tipped his head to speak directly in her ear when he asked, "What is it?"

"The next time I face Alduin," said Corinne, "I could either win or lose, and I could either live or die. If I win but die, I suppose my soul will go to Sovngarde."

"I'm certain of it," said Thongvor, although her death was the last thing he wanted to think about.

"If I lose, I will die anyway," she went on, "and Alduin will destroy Sovngarde and every soul in it. But I'm a Redguard, not a Nord. I was saying a prayer to Tall Papa, because if I die and the world ends, I'm going to the Far Shores, and you're coming with me."


End file.
